Darker Reign
by KColl2003
Summary: After killing the Skrull Queen, Norman Osborn becomes America's top cop.  What will happen when Faith discovers his under the table deals with some of Marvel's greatest villains?
1. Chapter 1

Title: Darker Reign

Rating: R

Story: Action\Adventure

Feedback: In lieu of a Faithbot yeah.

E-Mail: **.uk**

Disclaimer: Whedonverse characters owned by Mutant Enemy. Marvel Characters created and owned by the lords on high (aka Marvel Comics).

**FIC: Darker Reign (1/?)**

Sweat beaded down Dugan's forehead as he shredded his papers. He had to get rid of these papers and fast. Any minute now they'd be-.

"Hell!" His gaze snapped down at the floor as he heard his apartment door crash open and heavy feet stampede in. He glanced down at the papers still be shredded, reached into his desk, pulled out a brass lighter, poured a glass of spirits onto the stack of papers, then lit them.

The papers went up in a woosh, the sudden jetting of flame forcing his head back.

And then the office door crashed in, half a dozen heavily armed and armoured men charging in, their guns pointed unerringly at him, the hated emblem of a hammer painted across their chests. "Commander Dugan, as a former confidante and advisor of General Nick Fury and Tony Stark, we're authorised to detain you under the Patriot Act for questioning!"

Dum Dum Dugan growled, tendons and ligaments tensing then reluctantly relaxing. He wasn't as young as he'd once been, and even in his halcyon youth he'd have been hard-pressed to take six trained men at once. Hands clasped behind his head, he knelt on the ground, eyes fixed on the burning papers, grateful that he'd already magnetised his computer's hard drive.

* * *

"Stiwell, come on!" Quatermain cursed inwardly as he waited for his companion to catch him up. It seemed like all week they'd been rushing from hideout to hideout, ducking in and out of dirty, winding streets, only several steps in front of H.A.M.M.E.R and their infernal agents.

From all they'd been able to pick up on the back-channels, Dugan and the rest of the U.S. based Fury loyalists had already been picked up. Except, Quatermain allowed himself a grim smile, Fury himself.

And really, who needed the Fury loyalists when Fury himself would be more than enough to bring down this whole corrupt mess.

Dirty water splashed underfoot as Quatermain raced through the puddles, rain cascading down to soak them. "Damn!" Quatermain bellowed out a curse as two squad cars screeched to a halt in the alley's far exit, their neon lights flashing in the darkness signalling their blocking of the escape. Quatermain spun around to go back the way he'd come, dragging a slow to respond Stiwell with him in only to see a horde of H.A.M.M.E.R. agents racing into the alleyway behind them.

Trapped, completely and utterly trapped.

* * *

"Today, the President announced the dissolution of S.H.I.E.L.D. and the forming of a new agency, H.A.M.M.E.R, with its director Norman Osborn, hero of the recent human-Skrull conflict and slayer of the Skrull Queen, following the President in making a speech where he promised a new era of security for -."

"Oh no way am I listening to any more of this crap!" Xander interrupted as he turned the widescreen TV off.

Faith shot Xander an irritated look. "Jesus, Harris, what is your problem?" Faith shook her head. "Guy's a freakin' hero!"

"Guy used to be the Green Goblin, Spidey's numero uno enemy, a complete nutcase!" Xander retorted.

Faith's eyes narrowed to slits. "You sayin' you don't believe in redemption?"

"Oh no way," Xander threw his hands up in supplication. "That's a nutty comparison!"

"Why?" Faith challenged. "'Cause you ain't bonin' Osborn?"

"Ugh with the mental imagery," Xander shuddered. "No, because you did one thing wrong and learnt from it, while Osborn has fifteen years of being a piece of shit. All I'm saying is sure give the dude a medal, but making him America's top cop?" Xander shook his head. "World's gone nuts!"

Faith scowled. "Everyone deserves a second chance X."

"And how about when it's onto the eighth, ninth, and tenth?"

* * *

"Hello Stark." Osborn smirked up from behind his desk at the man stood before him, pointedly not offering him a seat.

"Osborn."

"That's Director Osborn," he corrected, smirk widening. "I assume you'll be going through your departure scan soon?"

"I'm on my way out," Stark confirmed.

Osborn hid a grimace as he noted the billionaire inventor's square shoulders and straight back. The genius inventor was far less broken than he'd like. "Then you've turned all over H.A.M.M.E.R. property and removed all personal effects?" he pressed.

"Yes," Stark nodded, his gaze unflinching. "When I leave, I'm gone. Everything's of mine is gone too."

"And you'll take nothing that belongs to me."

"Belongs to H.A.M.M.E.R, you mean."

"I am H.A.M.M.E.R.," Osborn airly replied. "And the database?"

Stark's look of bemusement was less than convincing. "Database?"

"Don't play dumb, Stark, you know I'm talking about the Superhuman Registration Database," Osborn's fist crashed down onto the desk.

Stark tilted his head to one side and smiled. "It's not your own personal toy, you'll have to get warrants and I'll fight you all the way to the Supreme Court for it." Stark's smile widened. "And I wouldn't advise trying to hack it, there's maybe half a dozen hackers in the world who could crack it, and they all work for me."

* * *

It took Osborn several minutes to collect himself after Stark's departure, only the promise of finally, completely and utterly ruining that insufferable smug jerk managing to calm him. "Director Osborn," his office door creaked open and Victoria Hand strode in, a clipboard held in the crook of the statuesque red-head's arm. "Your first appointments are here."

"Send them in, one at a time."

"Yes sir," Hand backed out.

Seconds later a powerfully built grey-haired man in an Air Force uniform strode into his office. "General Ross, a pleasure, please take a seat."

"I'm not sure why I'm here Director Osborn?"

Osborn noticed but ignored the fact the man had refused his offer of a seat, choosing instead to stand at attention. "You're here because like me you believe in order and discipline," Osborn replied. "And you're here because I need the power within you, General Ross."

The general took a half-step back but recovered quickly. "The Air Force has always been willing to co-operate with S.H.I.E.L.D. I'm sure we can continue to co-operate with H.A.M.M.E.R, although such matters of policy are of course dealt with at a higher pay grade than mine."

Sensing he was at the edge of a precipice, Osborn forced a chuckle. "All true, but I was referring to your very personal power."

"I'm not sure what you mean?"

Ross would make an excellent poker player, but Osborn was sure of his facts. "Please General, I'm fully aware of the experiment you yourself personally underwent. The lengths you'll go to to protect us all from the Hulk is very noble."

Finally the old warhorse's shoulders slumped. "What do you want?"

"The first Avengers had a hulk, I want one of my own," Osborn replied. "Think of it, General. An opportunity to protect your country as a superhero! You've always served your country most admirably General, this is merely another stage."

After a second 'Rulk' nodded. "I'm in."

Next through his office door was a towering, muscular yet still beautiful blonde dressed in a silken, emerald dress that had a low-cut neckline. "Enchantress," Osborn rose to meet the Asgardian, "I am, may I say enchanted." 

"Save it, mortal," Enchantress replied. "I am here only at the behest of Loki."

Well aware of the immortals and so-called gods' arrogance, Osborn ignored the insult implicit in his guest's words. "As part of my remit as H.A.M.M.E.R. commander, I'm the leader of the Avengers," he said. "And while I'm a man of science, magic has often played a part in the Avengers in the past. And you are a mighty witch, one of the strongest in the world."

"And why would such a lowly post interest one such as I?" sniffed the Asgardian.

"Thor has often served as an Avenger," Osborn needled. "Surely you'd welcome the chance to prove that anything he could do, you could emulate?"

"Not emulate." Raw emotion flashed in the Asgardian beauty's eyes. "Better!" Amora threw her head back and laughed. "I see your manipulation, mortal, but I accept your challenge. I'll join your team."

The next guest through the door was a crewcut, square-jawed man whose garb of linen braccae and tunic completely failed to conceal his impressive build. Osborn warily eyed the muscular man. According to his information this was an Eternal, a race of beings similar to but even more mysterious than the Asgardians and Olympians. According to his information, this Eternal was Gilgamesh, a being with a power to rival that of Hercules, Thor, and the other most mighty of Earth's heroes.

Unfortunately Gilgamesh was fundamentally a good man, a former Avenger. Fortunately however Gilgamesh was currently suffering from chronic amnesia, a man of power who had no idea just who he was, indeed he believed himself to be the 'true' Hercules. "Hello Hercules," Osborn purred. "I'd like to offer you a position in the Avengers."

Gilgamesh smiled slightly. "I'd be honoured."

The next through the door, a willowy blonde, Osborn knew would be a far easier sell. "Moonstone," Osborn greeted with a smirk. "You've done some excellent work in the Thunderbolts program." He paused momentarily before continuing. "Would you be interested in a promotion to the Avengers?"

Moonstone threw her head back, golden hair snapping from side to side. "Would I!"

"Good," Osborn nodded. "However the 'Moonstone' brand has a rather negative conation, all those acts of terror and criminality, you understand. So I'd like you to take on a new identity." Osborn reached into his desk drawer, pulled out a brightly coloured outfit and threw it to the woman.

Moonstone stared at the spandex outfit. "Ms. Marvel?"

"Precisely." Osborn leaned over the desk. "Do we have a deal?"

"Deal."

The next through the door was a towering blonde with wide shoulders, mighty thews, piercing blue eyes, and lantern jaw. Osborn leaned back in his seat as he ran an eye over the cyborg that had killed Goliath. Pym, Stark, and Richards might be arrogant asses, but they certainly knew their work. "Ragnarok," he greeted with a smile. "Are you ready to resume active duty?"

"Ready and willing."

The final two to enter were a study in contrasts. One was tall and thickly muscled, short-cut dark hair and eyes, a brooding, square-featured warrior. The other was also tall, but lithely muscled with fine features, flowing blond locks, and light blue eyes.

"Ares, Bob," he greeted the duo. "I trust you two have considered my offer?"

"Your victory over the Skrull Queen proves your worthiness as a warrior, I will serve by your side," Ares confirmed in a grunt.

"Excellent," Osborn turned his gaze on Sentry. "And you Bob, if I help you with your fractured psyche?"

Bob Reynolds nodded. "I'm your man, Norman."

* * *

"Guards planted Director Osborn."

Osborn glanced at the H.A.M.M.E.R. agent. "Excellent," he grunted as he peered at the disused warehouse they'd organised for this meeting. "Establish a rotating perimeter. No one gets in or out without my permission."

"Sir!"

Osborn ignored the man's brisk salute to stride into the warehouse, nodding as his gaze scanned over those assembled around the long table. Doom, let out of 42 on a technicality. Von Strucker likewise freed by paperwork and provided with the land of a South America-based abandoned Osborn facility to use as a powerbase, on condition he turn over all information on current US based HYDRA operations. Wilson Fisk who would be given leadership of the nation's organised crime and aided in the removal of his rivals in exchange for a more orderly and discreet running of the underworld. The Hood who would run all super villain activity on condition he kept it orderly. The Taskmaster who would be given the Thunderbolts Initiative to run. Sebastian Shaw would get control of the remaining mutants in return for running Osborn's hand-picked X-Men for him. Loki and Typhon would get Asgard and Olympus respectively, although obviously these two would have to wait until the remaining heroes were 'pacified'.

It was through these men of physical power and political influence he intended to further guarantee his position.

"Thank you all for coming," Osborn greeted. "I apologise for our less than salubrious surroundings, but you appreciate this meeting had to take place where prying eyes wouldn't see it." Osborn smiled. "We're at the dawn of a new age, people. One I hope we can take full advantage of."

* * *

Faith scowled as she stalked through the shadows, her temper still bubbling from her argument with Xander half a day ago. Her and Wood had broken up a few weeks after Sunnydale's fall, something about her not being his idea of a Slayer, to be honest she hadn't been listening to his drone. A couple of months after that, G had sent her to Africa to drag a descending into alcoholism Xander back to the states. Giles had assigned them to run the New York Slayer Council House, in charge of eighteen Slayers, the nation's other Slayers divided equally between the Council Houses in Miami and Cleveland.

Faith smirked. She'd gone into tough love in a big way, working the flab off her bud with long runs and gruelling gym sessions, and in the process they'd fallen in love. Her mood took a downturn, least she'd thought they'd fallen in love, but if he really thought someone couldn't be redeemed, then maybe she was just a convenient lay.

No, Faith shook her head. Xander might disagree with her over Osborn, but he was too considerate, too caring not to love her. There'd been hard times, arguments they'd had, girls they'd fallen, and battles they'd lost. But good times too, anniversaries, victories, and even the training sessions, Xander being Xander had been determined that HIS Slayers were the best Slayers they could possibly be, and as a result he'd hire a top class martial artist to train them for six months, then another and another. They'd been taught by America's best golden gloves boxers and amateur wrestlers, Brazilian Ji-Jitsu practioners honed in the UFC, Asia's Muay Thai boxers, Judo, Tae Kwon Do, Aikido, and Wing Chun experts, Mossad instructors in the Israeli art of Krav Maga, and even Spentaz's Sambo instructors had been hired.

Whatever else Xander was, he was thorough when it came to caring for his girls.

Normally they patrolled in three groups of four, the other Slayers remaining in the Council House, figuring that any four Slayers couldn't handle would be noticed by someone like the Avengers, Fantastic Four, or Doc Strange. But the mood Faith was in, she'd decided to lone wolf it.

Faith's concentration was broken by a shadow flickering in the darkness before her. "Kz'vak," she growled as she recognised the demon she'd been tracking for eight blocks.

And then she was up and racing, sneakerd feet slapping on the slippery wet ground as she darted through the shadowy, whining garment district, the great factories and workhouses silenced by the fall of night.

The Kz'vak was thick set with fireplug like legs and a powerful torso covered in a sturdy grey shell. Its arms were longer than its legs, knuckles almost scraping in the ground in fact. Its face was shaped like a dog's, its ovoid golden eye sat in the top and middle of its snout, its mouth filled with dagger-like teeth.

What the Kz'vak wasn't built for was speed, in half a block it was spinning to face her, three pronged claws slicing through the inky night at her. Faith glided into a baseball slide, water splashing as she slid under the hacking claws to bring her heels smashing into her rival's heels. Faith rolled away from the falling monster, then leapt onto it before it could rise, her knee driving hard into the small of its back, and her hand reaching to grab the creature's snout and yank it violently back, snapping the thing's neck.

"Heh," Faith grinned as she climbed up off the monster's corpse. "Sorry, but I had frust-." Faith's eyes narrowed as she heard a sorta familiar voice coming from a near-by warehouse. Faith licked her lips as she crept towards the building, a terrible curiosity filling her. She knew she shouldn't, she knew she should get the hell outta Dodge, but fuck her legs kept carrying her towards the run-down building, compelling her to press her face against a dirty, cobwebbed window.

"Son of a bitch," Faith breathed as she peered through the dirty window, heart pounding as she recognised notorious face after notorious face. First thing she realised was that Xan was gonna lord this one over her for an eternity.

The second even more sobering thought was she was in way, way over her head.

Faith reached a shaking head into her jacket, pulled out her phone and began recording footage. Hell, she needed evidence if she was gonna bring these bastards down.

Sweat beaded on her forehead despite the night's chill as the seconds and minutes crawled by, mouth drying as Osborn's terrible plan unfolded before her.

"Hey you!"


	2. Chapter 2

** FIC: Darker Reign (2/?)**

"SHIT!" Faith's heart drummed a thousand beats a minute as her gaze snapped to the two riot-costumed men approaching her from the left, stun-guns swinging up. Faith threw herself backwards into a flip, twisting at the waist so she hit the factory behind her shoulder-first.

Rotting wood exploded as Faith crashed out of the darkened factory, hitting the ground on her shoulders and allowing momentum to carry her into a backwards roll that ended with her in a crouch. Faith springboarded out of the crouch and into a spin-kick the moment the two HAMMER agents stepped into the Faith-made-hole.

Her lead leg caught the right agent with enough force to crack his visor and drop him like a stone. The other lunged at Faith with a stun-baton, but she glided outside of it, driving her elbow up and through his visor and into his face.

Faith was moving even as the agent slumped, hands reaching up as she leapt into the air, grabbed a hold of the factory's roof, swung up, and onto the roof. "FUCK!" she cursed as a hovering helicopter's spotlight illuminated her. Faith took off, racing across the creaking roof to leap onto the next, wind whistling in her hair and sound of the pursuing helicopter filling her ears. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

Suddenly she veered right, diving off to hit the ground with a grunt, dirt flying up to cloak her as she rolled into the shadows, leapt up, and raced down a passageway between two grave-silent warehouses, dust billowing underfoot.

Faith's legs stretched further, chest heaving and blood roaring in her ears as she raced around a corner to find herself back in more populated areas. A bend and flex of her knees powered her into the air, landing on her side on the top of a passing taxi and rolling off onto on-coming traffic.

"Oh for fuck's sake!" Faith groaned, eyes widening at the on-rushing 18 wheeler. Her heart thundered as she dropped onto her back, onto the cold tarmac. The stench of diesel and oil filled her nostrils and lungs while the lorry's roar enveloped her ears as the vehicle passed over her. Faith's hands and feet shot up and grabbed a hold of the lorry's under-carriage, carrying her away. "Oh yeah," she muttered. "Definitely not the way to travel."

* * *

"We should be out there!" Johnny yelled.

"I hate to agree with the boy," Ben growled. "But when I see those HAMMER mooks, I say it's clobbering time!"

Richards didn't look up from his surveillance screen, heart sinking as he noted the barricades being set up surrounding the Baxter Building, the visored agents crouching behind the steel barricades backed up by heavy artillery and even tanks. "We can't attack," Sue's calming tones cut, "we're in the middle of town, if we break out, there's bound to be collateral damage."

"Besides," Reed ignored his clenching hands, knuckles whitening, "whether we like it or not, they're the law. If we attack, we'll be going against our own government. Whether we agree or not with their decisions, we can't make war on our own elected government, not without a lot more cause."

"So what are we going to do?" Johnny demanded. "We can't just sit here for months!"

"Boy's got a point," Ben growled. "If nothin' else, our supplies can't last for months."

"We can use the teleportation array to bring in supplies," Reed countered. "Just as long as we don't get involved in super-heroics."

"For how long?"

Reed scowled at his brother-in-law's query There were some questions even super-geniuses couldn't answer.

* * *

"Come on," Cage growled as he led his battered team through Harlem's twisting streets, a , "let's get home and-." His voice trailed off as he belatedly realised something. "Danny," he muttered, "we're being followed, right?"

"That we are," his best friend confirmed in an all-too casual tone.

Cage smirked slightly. "Sweet Christmas, looks like some people never learn."

"Mr. Cage," a statuesque white woman dressed in a tailor-made business suit stepped out of the shadows surrounding his office.

Still mindful of their mystery tail, Cage let out a terse snap. "Lady, come back in business hours."

The woman, man she looked to be a ball-buster, smiled coldly. "I'm afraid I can't wait, Mr. Luca-, sorry," the woman's smile could have poisoned a viper, "you've changed it by deed poll haven't you Mr. Cage?"

Cage arched an eyebrow. "What's your game, lady?"

"My name's Victoria Hand, I'm executive assistant to Norman Osborn." Cage glided way past irritated and bordering on furious. "And it's my job to inform you that your registration under the Superhuman Registration Act has been suspended. From this moment forth, if you involve yourself in any activity that could be construed as vigilantism, you will be considered criminals and interned indefinitely in 42."

Cage's jaw clenched as anger threatened to over-whelm her. "Lady-."

"Please," Hand interrupted him with a raise of her hand. "I'm not the one you appeal to, you'll have to take that up with the courts."

Danny spoke before he could. "Oh we will, you can rely on that."

"Excellent," Hand looked around them, at those who'd pursued them. "I'm sure Director Osborn will look forward to your reply. Now if you don't mind, my escort's here."

* * *

"Xander, we have got one hell of a problem!"

Xander groaned as his bedroom light flickered on. Oh for crying out loud, he rolled wearily out of bed, rubbing the sleep out of his remaining eye, his girl-friend could never let an argument just go. "Faith-." His voice trailed off as he belatedly registered his girl-friend's bedraggled appearance, soot, dust, and oil streaking her outfit of jeans, gym shirt, and denim jacket, her jeans left pocket torn almost completely off and her denim jacket's collar hanging on by a couple of threads. Irritation metamorphosed into concern. "Faith, what happened!"

"Oh man," Faith shook her head and began pacing, Xander not at all happy either about the hysterical note in the Slayer's normally husky voice or her wide eyes. "I hate to admit but you're right. Oh man," Faith shook her head, "really, really right."

"I find I'm right about most, well all things," Xander modestly replied. "But you'll have to be specific."

"Osborn, he's a freakin' loon and he's planning to slice up the US. like a pizza and givin' it to his cronies!" Faith pulled out her cell. "Watch this!"

"Oh boy," Xander gasped as he watched the grainy footage and listened to the horrifying audio.

"Yeah," Faith nodded. "I don't recognise all of these people, but I recognise enough and heard enough to know this is one hell of a mess."

"One hell of a mess?" Xander shook his head. "If anything you're under-selling it. That's the arch-enemies of the Fantastic Four, Thor, Captain America, Spiderman, and Daredevil, all plotting under one roof."

"Oh gawd," Faith shook her head. "I forgot you're a geek for these guys ain't you?"

Xander glared at his girl-friend. "Do you want my help or not?"

"Sorry," Faith flushed. "What do you figure we do?"

Xander's first suggestion was emigrating to the sun, it might be slightly cooler than things were about to get around here. "The way the footage ended, they found you didn't they?"

"Yeah," Faith nodded. "I think I lost them, but I'm pretty sure they got me on camera."

"Then it's only a matter of time before they come for us," Xander grimaced. "I better phone Giles."

"Oh gawd," Faith moaned, "it's worse than I thought."

* * *

"We were seen!" Osborn raged, not caring as the guards cringed before him. "What are you paid for!" He forced his temper under control. "Have you any footage of this intruder?"

"Yes sir," the chief guard raced forward. "This is the footage from one of our observation cameras, the intruder appears to be some sort of transient."

"Transient?" Osborn laughed dourly after watching the footage, what he saw only confirming his low opinion of the rank and file grunts. "That's no transient. The girl's slightly built, but moves too athletically for a street-dweller and her clothes weren't bought at any thrift footage." Osborn glared at the cowering men. "Get a image off this footage and run it through facial recognition, and get a match, fast!"

* * *

"Oh bloody hell." Giles moaned a protest as his phone's ringing dragged him out of a night's sleep. Horror and dread hollowed his belly as he reached for the phone, the phone ringing at this time of night always a precursor to bad news. "Hello?"

"Giles," he smiled despite his worry as he recognised his son's voice, "we've got a problem."

"Oh bloody hell," he groaned as Xander explained. "Alright son, give me a second." Giles' brow furrowed in thought. There was no earthly way the Slayer Council, even with their greatly augmented numbers, could hope to take on the Avengers alone, much less the other forces that Osborn would be able to call upon.

So if direct confrontation was out, what other strategy could they take?

Giles' mind was still racing as he began to speak. "I'm sorry son, but we can't go head to head with Osborn, not with the power base he has-."

"We can't leave Faith swinging in the wind!"

"Son," Giles soothed, "that's not what I'm saying at all. I'm saying we don't have a chance against Osborn in an open battle. However," Giles half-smiled despite the torrid situation, "if one can't win fairly, then one should attempt to win unfairly."

"Eh?"

"I assume Faith still has the memory card with the incriminating footage?" Giles queried.

"Yeah."

"The first thing I need you to do is post that phone to me," Giles paused. "No, post it to the Devon Coven in case Osborn puts a watch on all postage heading out of the US to the Council, they'll pass it onto me. That's our leverage, it can't be anywhere Osborn can get a hold of it. I'll open up diplomatic channels just in case Osborn does recognise Faith, and when I set up the Council Houses, I also set up a back-up plan in case of a crisis. I placed a key in your safe several years ago, take it down to Big Apple Bank opposite the Imperial Playhouse on 6th. Go in, tell them you want to see safety deposit box 999, and the password is," Giles couldn't help but grin, "'Angel and Spike are a pair of wankers'." Xander let out a snort. "Inside the safety deposit box, you'll find twenty thousand dollars, an untraceable cell, forged passports and forged driving licenses. If you have to run, use that instead of your usual paperwork, it should make it a little harder for Osborn to track you. But don't run until you know she's been identified."

"Okay," Xander sounded scared, more scared than Giles could ever remember him sounding, but then, given the forces on play against them he could hardly blame him.

"But most of all, stay safe son."

* * *

"Sir," Hand strode up to him, hips swaying. "Here's your speech."

"Excellent," he glanced over the print and nodded. It would do for a start.

"We believe Tigra, Justice, and Doc Samson have deserted ahead of our arrival," Hand continued as their transport landed.

"And what of this mystery woman?" Osborn demanded.

"We're still trawling though the relevant databases, she isn't a member of the armed forces, security forces, or a known hero."

"Huh," Osborn scowled. The stranger was something, her moves were too sure, too skilled for an amateur. "Well keep at it."

Osborn ignored the flashing camera lights that greeted him as he strode down the ramp-way and to the already set-up podium. "Ladies, gentlemen, thank you for meeting me here for this hastily arranged but necessary podium. When I was promoted into the position as America's top officer, I decided things had to change to ensure the mistakes of the past weren't repeated." Osborn paused. "In principle, the Super-Human Registration Act and the Fifty-State Initiative were fine ideas, however their implementation and execution were fatally flawed."

Osborn feigned a dismayed shake of the head. "But setting Camp Hammond up here, where the Stamford incident occurred, displayed tragic insensitivity on the part of Stark and the previous administration." Osborn paused again before continued. "The individual teams have on the whole acquitted themselves well, although the large-scale infiltration by the Skrulls is yet another symptom of the incompetence of the Initiative's previous administration. I fully intend to perform a thorough evaluation of all existing teams to determine how their performances could possibly be improved, I also intend to extend the Initiative to the states that currently don't have teams. Every single citizen of this fine nation will be protected. And they will be further protected by the security of knowing that no Initiative headquarters or training compound will ever be located near a major population centre." Osborn paused, savouring the shocked mutter that ran through the massed journalists. "As of now, Camp Hammond is closed!"

* * *

"Dr. Pym, Captain," Wong bowed. "Please come in."

"Thank you Wong," Captain America nodded politely at Strange's best friend and man-servant as the Oriental led them to Strange's study.

"Ah, Henry, Steven," Strange rose with a typical flourish. "Some tea perhaps?"

"Thank you, but we're not here on a social visit," Pym replied. "We need to ask a favour."

"Ah," Strange's expression grew guarded. "By all means ask."

Cap took a deep rattling breath, realising just what he was about to ask. "I think we can all agree that Norman Osborn is unsuited for the position he now holds, so we were wondering if there was some way you could perhaps either remove him or change things so he never became America's top cop."

"Rewrite reality on a world-wide scale would take an immense amount of power but I perhaps could do that. And Osborn certainly is eminently unsuited for the position he now holds." Strange paused then shook his head. "But no. I won't."

"Why not?" Captain America struggled to keep the heat out of his voice.

"Because when I do stop?" Strange queried. "A President is elected I disapprove of? Do I rewrite this? A war is started that I believe unjust? An ally turns against us? No," Strange shook his head. "Once one starts down the path of using such power, it's hard to turn back. You're welcome to stay here, for safety. But I won't use my powers to re-write reality to our liking."

Pym spoke before he could. "Thank you for the offer, but we have team-mates, commitments."

Strange nodded. "Of course."

* * *

Osborn strode into the brightly lit media studio, H.A.M.M.E.R. agents flanking him. "Mr. Keller." Osborn shot the 'reporter' his most practiced, most media-friendly smile. "I'd like to thank you for your favourable coverage of my ascension."

"Think nothing of it." Keller smiled slightly, the talk-show host practically preening. "It's a relief to have a man of your principles in charge in these turbulent times, especially after that incompetent liberal, Stark."

"I couldn't agree more," Osborn replied. "That's why I'd like to offer you the position of my go-to person for televised interviews and the like, exclusive access etc."

"Yes, of course." Keller nodded so violently, Osborn half-wondered if the man's head would fly off. "I'd love it."

Of course he'd love it, Keller was practically counting his Pulitzers right now. "Of course there'd have to be conditions," he slyly added.

"Conditions?"

"That your questions are pre-approved and that you don't question me on sensitive, disapproved areas," Osborn replied.

"Of course Mr. Osborn," Keller nodded. "There are always facts that the general populace don't need to know."

Osborn smirked. "I'm glad we could reach an understanding."

* * *

Osborn as America's top cop? It was worse than ridiculous and insane, it was unacceptable, criminal. But it was a criminal act that the caped crowd seemed to lack the will to act against.

But he'd never been accused of a lack of will.

Castle set his teeth as he peered through his sniper scope at the podium eighteen hundred feet away. The moment Osborn walked onto the stage, he squeezed his rifle's trigger.

The bullet powered out of his gun, hurtling from the abandoned factory platform he'd used as his sniping position and powering towards Osborn's forehead. Castle peered through the scope, the infinitesimal amount of time the bullet's journey should take stretching out into an apparent eternity.

"Damn!" he grunted when the Sentry appeared from nowhere and plucked the bullet out of the air a couple of inches from Osborn's forehead. Knowing the Sentry would be with him in a blink of the eye, Castle didn't waste time on regret or curses, instead he leapt up and over the platform, hands reaching for the rappelling line he'd left in case of and emergency.

"Hell!" He grunted as he grabbed the rope, shoulders and arms protesting the sudden jerk as he swung through one of the factory's windows, glass showering everywhere as he hit the ground on his side, a rib or two possibly cracking with the impact.

"Castle," he looked up to see the Sentry hovering by the shattered window, "give it up."

Castle grinned through blood-stained teeth, thumb jamming down on a detonator he'd set up earlier. The building rumbled, ears pounded with blood as his eyes filled with fire, flames enveloping the golden-maned superhero.

Castle was up and running as the Sentry flew out of the swirling flames, tortured breath pounding through his aching chest and ribs. Forget about the pain, just think of escape.

And then the Sentry's hands were on his shoulders, lifting him as effortlessly as he was a new-born child. Castle reached into his shoulder-harness, pulled out his MP5, and sprayed a whole magazine of armour-piercing shells into the super-hero's face.

He didn't think for a second that the bullets would actually harm Reynolds, but they were enough to shock him into dropping him. The dank air whistled around him, the ground hurtling up to meet him in a bone-aching crash. The Sentry floated down to hover over him. "This is over, Castle." The Sentry shook his head as he pulled out another detonator. "That didn't work the first time. Why do you think it would now?"

Ignoring the hurt coursing through him, Castle smirked up at the super-hero. All power and no brains. "This isn't for you," he declared. "Three bombs at the basement of hospitals in Williamsburg, Greenwich Village, and Forest Hills. A minute to get them all. Bye now."

The Sentry's glare could have burnt a forest to a cinder. The hero knew he was bluffing, but couldn't take the risk. "This isn't over," the Sentry warned as he flew out of the nearest window.

"No," Castle agreed as he pulled himself up on a near-by pipe and began limping towards the sewer grille he'd used to gain access to the factory, "it isn't."


	3. Chapter 3

**FIC: Darker Reign (3/?)**

"I don't like this Harris," Faith declared as she peered up from beneath her peaked Red Sox baseball cap, hands stuffed into the pockets of her grey Boston Celtics hoodie. "I should be rabbiting over the border into Canada or Mexico or somethin'."

Xander glanced left and right as he made his way through the crowded streets, pristine skyscrapers gleaming in the early morning sun. "Giles says we shouldn't do anything until we're sure that you've been identified, running might alert Osborn."

Faith shot her boyfriend an incredulous glance. "How the hell's Osborn gonna know it's me? Until he's finished facial recognition, he'll only have a blurry photo. If we wait until he knows I'm Harriet the Spy," Faith ignored the longing glance Xander was shooting the neighbourhood's International House Of Pancakes, "by then it'll be way too late."

"Giles says that he'll use the Council's diplomatic contacts to try and curtail any attacks by Osborn," Xander replied. Faith shook her head, Xander had seen the footage, but he hadn't been there, he hadn't seen how grade A crazy Osborn was. Somehow she didn't think a couple of ambassadors were gonna stop him. "And going on the run using your own credit cards and papers would get you captured pretty fast. We need those papers and that money."

That at least made sense. Although she wasn't happy about the idea of X goin' with her, but her predictably mule-headed boyfriend wouldn't have it any other way.

Yeah, love made ya dumb as shit.

Not that she didn't appreciate the loyalty though, especially after her crappy exes. "Here's the bank," Faith pointed to a glass-fronted building with the logo of a red apple over its arched doorway.

"Yeah," Xander shook his head, "looking at the logo, I'm amazed the Beatles didn't sue them for copyright infringement." Faith looked at her boyfriend, brow furrowing. What the fuck was he talkin' about this time? "You know, Beatles, Apple Records?"

"Rrrrright," Faith decided humouring the dork was definitely the way to go.

"I'll do the talking, you keep the peak of your cap down and hair tucked into the sweatshirt so that if a camera picks you up, there's less than a chance of anyone recognising you," Xander said. Faith nodded, that made sense.

Xander smiled at her assent before opening the door. "After you."

"Thanks," Faith half-smiled. If nothin' else, Xander's manners were sweet.

Inside the bank was all pastel coloured walls and gleamingly clean floor tiles with CCTV cameras in every corner of the reception area following their every move, and watchful private security patrolling the vast area. Xander and Faith joined one of the four lines leading to the reception desk. Faith ground her teeth together, waiting was never one of her favourite things to do, Slayers just weren't built for patience, they just had too much energy. Add to that the possibility of Osborn's stormtroopers crashing in at every moment, and every waiting second seemed to take an hour.

Finally though, Xander reached the front of the line, the receptionist's bland politeness of course offset by Xander's eyepatch but just as naturally returned by her boyfriend's goofy grin. "Hi Sandra," Xan spent rather too long beaming at the pretty red-head stood behind the desk. "It's a lovely day isn't it?" Xander commented before continuing. "I have this key for one of your deposit boxes."

The receptionist's eyes widened when Xander produced the key. "Oh right, sir, if you just wait here, I'll have to get the deputy manager."

The receptionist climbed off her seat and rushed to a door at the rear. "She could have just identified me, gone to alert the police or some such shit," Faith muttered in Xander's ear.

"You know what I love about you?" Xander's grin grew a little more forced. "Your glowing optimism."

Faith's mouth opened in a waspish response, but before she could speak, the door opened and a short, spindly man wearing horn-rimmed glasses and a crumpled suit followed the receptionist out. "Hello," the man squeaked as he guided them behind the counter, "you have the key for one of our boxes, I understand. Box 999?" The manager peered from Xander to Faith and back again. "Before we go any further I assume you know the pass phrase?"

Xander nodded. "Angel and Spike are a pair of wankers."

"That's correct," the manager led them through the door, past a deskbound thickly set security guard, a camera above the guard recording their every movement. The manager continued on, around a corner, and to a steel door with an armed guard stood to the left and a keypad on the right, another security camera set above the door. "Give me a moment," the manager muttered as he tapped in a six key code, then pressed 'ENTER'.

The steel door hissed to the side, revealing a room filled with deposit boxes to the left and right, the room's centre dominated by a single solitary table. The man's shoes clicked on the tiled floor as he walked to the room's rear, unlocked a deposit box, and pulled out a locked box that he placed on the table. "I'll be outside, just buzz when you're finished."

"Thanks." Xander waited until the door had closed behind the man, then used his key to unlock the box, pulling its top off to reveal the cell, sets of identity papers, and money inside it

"Hey, if Osborn doesn't come after me," Faith dived in the box and pulled out the thick rolls of bills, dark eyes gleaming avariciously, "new cinema system on Giles?"

Xander shook his head. "Let's just get out of here before you spend the money."

Faith pouted. "Piker."

* * *

"No!" Pepper Potts shook his head. "You can't do this!"

Stark smiled patiently. "Extremis changed me, I'm no longer merely human. My brain's evolved into a kind of hard drive, and there's all sorts of stuff on that hard drive that Osborn might want. Extremis. Iron Man technology. Ideas and plans Hank, Reed, and I were working on. Blueprints and plans we've confiscated off various criminal geniuses. Files on foreign meta-humans. Contingency plans for dealing with various criminals, some that Osborn would consider amongst his allies. SHIELD personnel files. And of course the superhuman registration act. I've alienated many of my friends over the past few months, but I won't betray them." Stark paused. "It's a myth that strong men can hold forever against torture, any man or woman can or will be broken, it's just a matter of time and will. So the only safe solution is," Stark paused, the enormity of his decision threatening to overwhelm, "is I wipe my external hard drive, my brain."

"Yes Tony, you wipe your external hard drive, but it's not just an external hard drive, it's your brain!" Pepper snapped. "What does this mean for you?"

"It's the biological equivalent of reformatting my hard drive," Tony replied. "Every idea, plan, secret that Osborn might want will be deleted." Tony paused, stomach hollowing and throat tightening. "The only trouble is, so will I. Everything will go, until well I'm a vegetable."

"No way!" Maria Hill snapped, his former deputy director shaking her head. "You're the smart guy in the room, one of the smartest guys we've got on our side, you can't just wipe yourself out like this. Osborn's rotten to the core, but he won't last, and when he's gone, we'll need you!"

"I told you!" Stark's calm façade cracked. "If Osborn gets his hands on my mind, it'll be disastrous."

"Why not use a gun?" Hill demanded, voice hoarse with pain. "Or drugs?"

"Too chancey," Stark forced a smile. "Don't worry, I have a plan. I always have a plan."

* * *

"Huh, I'm sorry but I have an appointment," Foggy Nelson's unease increased as the power-suited red-head strutted into his office. Beautiful women always flustered him, and especially those that radiated the sort of power that this beauty did.

"No, Mr. Nelson, I'm afraid you don't." The woman sat down uninvited, long legs crossing as she peered imperiously at him. "As of 12 midnight, last night your law licence has been suspended."

"What!" Nelson's eyes bulged. "You can't!"

"Actually I can," the woman appeared unfazed by his protestations. "I'm Victoria Hand, personal assistant to Director Osborn of HAMMER." Nelson's heart sank. "Due to your close relation with Matt Murdoch also known as Daredevil, it has been decided that you're an unsuitable man to be practicing law-."

"On what grounds?" Nelson's fist crashed onto the desk.

"On the grounds that Daredevil is an unregistered meta-human," Hand replied. "As a result, Director Osborn petitioned New York law board for a suspension of your licence owing to your close association to a wanted fugitive."

"You can't just do this! I'll appeal!"

"By all means do so," Hand rose. "We after all live in a democracy. I'm sure you'll get your appeal." Hand's smile could have frozen polar bears. "In four to six months."

* * *

Water lopped against the sides of the royal yacht, gently bobbing the sleek-lined ship. "How typically courteous of you to ask me to a meeting in such a place," Namor greeted as he climbed out of the waters and onto the deck, water dripping from the Atlantis native's powerful frame. "T'Challa, Ororo, a pleasure to see you both, although I'm at a loss as regards the motivation behind the invitation?"

"The Americans have gone mad," T'Challa replied, his tone flat and sombre.

"Ha!" the Atlantean threw his head back and let out an amused roar. "The Americans were always the maddest of all surface dwellers with their galloping mass consumption of the world resources and casual, unthinking disposal of their waste." Namor's amused tone disappeared. "But what specific madness do you refer to?"

It was Storm rather than T'Challa who replied. "Their usurpation of Tony Stark in favour of Norman Osborn."

"Ah yes," Namor's jaw clenched and a storm cloud seemed to form behind his eyes, "Stark was always an honourable, principled but arrogant man. But Osborn," Namor shook his head. "I've encountered that man on occasion, stopped his companies from dumping into the oceans. He's an arrogant, bad-tempered ass with delusions of godhood. In short, he's nothing more than a mad dog" Namor paused. "However I fail to see what effect America's inner turmoils will have on us?"

"You said yourself," Storm was calmness personified. "Osborn is delusional and power-hungry, with the might of America behind him, he is more dangerous than before."

"More dangerous?" The air seemed to crackle around Namor. "More dangerous how?"

"We have friends in America." T'Challa shook his head at Namor's snort. "Snort all you like, but there are people you admire at the very least. People that it is probable someone as vindictive and unhinged as Osborn will target now that he has the infrastructure of the entire U.S. behind him."

Namor's eyes narrowed to slits. "Even if I admit to concerns for those I have fought alongside, my priority is always and forever Atlantis."

"And that should be a concern too," Storm pressed. "Do you think Osborn's ambitions will be fettered by borders?"

"If he attacks Atlantis then he will find it's the gravest of mistakes," Namor replied. "Always Atlantis will stand strong."

"But need it stand alone?" queried T'Challa.

Namor's gaze bored into him, but T'Challa met it unflinchingly. "What do you mean?"

"I think a coalition of international super-heroes is called for, a sort of mutual defensive pact," T'Challa replied.

"And who will be invited to this coalition?" Namor demanded.

T'Challa hesitated before replying. "The three of us of course, the Arabian Knight, Japan's Silver Samurai, Ka-Zar of the Savage Land, Zanzibar's Askari the Spear, Germany's Vormund, Israel's Sabra, and Captain Britain."

"Ha," T'Challa was disappointed when Namor shook his head. "And I am the first to be asked?" T'Challa nodded. "Friend, I laud your ambition, but those you name will either be restrained by their governments or will be nothing more than minor obstacles to an Osborn backed by his government." Namor backed to the edge of the yacht. "My answer is no."

"That was disappointing," Storm commented as Namor disappeared in a splash.

"It was," T'Challa admitted. "But I have other plans."

* * *

"Damn it!" Osborn thumped the desk as he stared impotently at the screen before him. All attempts at accessing the Superhuman Registration Act database had failed, Stark having comprehensively booby-trapped the damn thing. All those identities lost.

His gaze snapped towards the statuesque red-head striding through his office door. "Hand! Don't bother coming in unless you have some good news!"

His personal assistant missed a step at his bark but then she continued in. "Yes sir, we have an identity on the interloper at last night's meet, she's a twenty-seven year old woman by the name of Faith Eliza Lehane." Hand passed a file over his desk. "She has an interesting past."

Osborn's eyes widened as he scanned the file. He was more than aware of the existence of vampires, after all he'd had encounters with both Blade and Morbius in the past, but had never had the slightest inkling of the existence of this Slayers Council. "Get on the phone to the White House, ask the President for a face to face at his earliest convenience."

* * *

"Yes," Osborn waited with barely-controlled impatience as the President ran over the carefully-prepared and doctored evidence, "these charges do seem very serious. However," the President looked up, "I'm not prepared to go to war with the Slayers Council over them."

"Sir!" Osborn reigned in his temper and attempted a more reasonable tone. "The crimes Lehane has been accused of-."

"Are very serious," the President agreed. "But the Council is an institution that pre-dates the Vatican, and comes close to it in power and influence throughout the world. Should I unilaterally declare sanctions on the Council, it's possible they might pull their Slayers out of the US., causing an explosion in the number of vampire and demonic-related deaths."

"HAMMER could take up the slack," Osborn replied.

"And at what cost to the American tax-player?" the President queried.

"Sir, these crimes can't be ignored-."

"Whose ignoring them?" the President interrupted. "I'm willing to both remove Ms. Lehane's diplomatic immunity and sign off on any papers you need to authorise her arrest. However, this isn't cart blanche to go after the Council, just her and anyone who assists her."

* * *

BBBR! BBBBR! BBBR!

Xander grunted back at his phone as its ringing forced him out of his slumber. When his disapproval failed to silence it, he reached out and grabbed it off the bedside table and pulled it to his hear. "Hello?"

"Xander!" His heart skipped a beat as he recognised the harried tones as belonging to Giles. "One of our agents in the State Department has been in contact with me, Faith's diplomatic immunity has been repealed and an arrest warrant for her on charges of sabotage, industrial espionage, and murder has been issued. HAMMER are on their way to you as I speak."

"What?" Xander rubbed dazedly at his eyes and rolled up and out of the bed, Faith moaning sleepily beneath the sheets. "I thought you said you'd make sure we're protected?"

"I'm still working on it son," Giles hissed. "But until I can secure Faith's safety, you and her need to run. NOW!"


	4. Chapter 4

**FIC: Darker Reign (4/?)**

"Faith, they're coming."

Faith awoke instantly at Xander's whisper. Her heart thundered as she forced an unconcerned expression, threw aside her sheetx, swung her legs out of bed, and sat up. A thousand questions rushed through her head, but she shoved them aside in favour of rising. "I'll get dressed and grab the duffel bag while you sort everyone else out."

"Everyone else?" Xander grimaced. "Ah hell, I'll speak to Hardcastle."

* * *

THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!

Hardcastle yawned as the door crashed open, years of serving first in the Paras, then the SAS, and finally MI6 training him to a state of instant wakefulness. "Mr. Harris," he quickly corrected at the younger man's habitual grimace at hearing his surname, "sorry Xander, it's a little late, what sort of crisis do we have?"

"Giles just phoned, HAMMER are on the way."

It was Hardcastle's turn to grimace. On balance a supernatural crisis would be less problematical. "What are your instructions?"

"What I want you to do is co-operate completely with them, answer all their questions about us, but avoid anything and everything to do with the Council and Council Policy, and if they try to push it, invoke your diplomatic immunity." Xander paused. "The only thing is don't mention the secret passage."

Hardcastle stared back at the younger man. "They're sure to find it."

"Oh yeah," Xander nodded. "And when they do, tell them you didn't know anything about it, it must have been something that just Faith and I as the big bosses knew."

"Very well," Hardcastle nodded. "Then I better get back in bed." Xander raised an eyebrow. "If we are to make our co-operation look sincere, we should be in bed when they arrive, you having sneaked away in the night."

"Oh yeah," Xander nodded. "Makes sense. You'll handle the girls?"

Hardcastle concealed a smile. In his estimation Harris was far from the ideal leader, too undisciplined, but he couldn't be faulted for his loyalty. "I'll take care of them," he promised.

* * *

"Everything ready?" Faith queried as Xander burst back into their room, the Slayer having changed into a pair of skin-tight black jeans with a purple blouse tucked into them, the top couple of buttons unfastened, and a full-length black duster over it, her hair concealed under a black baseball hat and eyes hidden behind a pair of Aviator glasses.

Xander nodded, allowing his girl-friend to carry the duffel they'd packed in preparation for the HAMMER invasion. Faith led the way, stalking deep into the bowels of the place. A wave of dank air belched out of the trapdoor at the far end of their bristling with chrome gym and the basement's wooden steps creaked as they hurried down into the cellar filled with food, toiletries, and medicinal supplies. From there, they made their way to the basement's rear. Xander's heart thudded, sweat beading on his forehead as he reached under the middle of five shelves and pushed a button.

A low whirling filled the air as Xander stepped back, the five-shelved cabinet sliding to the left. Faith pulled out a torch and shone it onto the set of stone steps leading down. "Damn," Faith wrinkled her nose. "Hope we're not gonna end up in the sewers."

"We could always stay here," Xander replied as he hurried into the hole.

"Nah," Faith followed him in and pulled on the lever on the right wall, sealing the hole behind them. "On balance we should get the hell outta Dodge."

* * *

"GET HIM!" Iron Patriot snarled as Stark weaved with none of his usual grace in and out of Osborn and Moonstone's energy blasts, Ragnaork's brutish presence hovering over them. He'd have brought others with them, but they were needed for another mission, besides he wanted those he REALLY trusted with him for this mission.

Energy blasted out of his palms to crash into Stark's side. The billionaire shuddered and went into a tailspin that he eventually righted in time for Moonstone to send a blast of her own into the self-appointed hero. Flames flickered on Iron Man's armour as he plunged to the ground, smoke billowing from his scorched armour.

"Now," Osborn let out a hate-filled snarl as he landed, feet astride his fallen rival, smoke still smouldering off Stark's armour, "about those files I asked you for?"

"OSBORN! Your country might have bought into your BS, but you passed over the border intoCanadaover ten minutes ago, back off!"

Osborn's temper threatened to bubble over as about eight costumed clowns appeared in the distance, closing fast. "Alpha Flight," Osborn grunted before forcing himself to moderate his tone. "Stand aside, this is HAMMER business."

"That's as maybe," Guardian flew up until he was eye to eye to Osborn, "but the Canadian government haven't recognised HAMMER's authority. So you being on our soil without permission is an international incident in itself."

"Stark is a wanted fugitive," Osborn grated.

"Wanted by theUS. authorities, not the Canadian." Guardian's expression was hidden by his mask, but his tone indicated an infuriating lack of concern. "I'd suggest you file the proper paperwork and return for your prisoner then. At least, not unless you wish to escalate this incident?"

Osborn's jaw clenched and teeth gritted. His trio were out-numbered and out-gunned, but even with the potential reinforcements of the missing Avengers, moving so openly in another nation, especially their neighbouring country, would endanger his newly-won position. "I'll be back," he promised.

Guardian seemed to smile beneath his mask. "That was way more impressive when Arnie said it."

* * *

"Are you sure we should be doing this?"

Hudsonforced his gaze away from the retreating trio to glance at his much-loved wife stood alongside him. "I never liked Osborn,"Hudsonreplied. "Besides it's Stark. No matter the mistakes he'd made recently, he's one of us."

"Perhaps not."

Both of them looked away to see Walter Langkowski crouched by Stark's head. "What do you mean?" Heather demanded.

"Look at his eyes," Langkowski replied, the world-class physicist having changed out of his Sasquatch 'persona' and knelt beside the armoured super-hero, the industrialist's helmet in his hands. "It looks like he's taken a heck of a knock to his head, his eyes are dull, he's not all there."

"He'll need a hospital, fast."

"I'll take him," Northstar said as he scooped the armoured man up with a grunt. "Even with the heaviness of his suit, I'll get him there before any of you could."

Hudsonnodded. "Sounds good."

* * *

"Hello Sebastian," Osborn greeted the thick-set man dressed in a Saville Row suit sat opposite him. "I trust you've met your X-Men?"

"Yes," his fellow businessman nodded. "However there's not enough of them to take on Cyclops and his troops. And even if there was, we need a pretext to move against him. After their actions during the Skrull invasion, they're lauded inSan Francisco."

"Don't worry," Osborn beamed at Shaw. Finally after that damn Slayer evading his troops and Alpha Flight thwarting his attempt to get his hands on Stark, something was going his way. "I've thought of all that." He turned his intercom on. "Ms. Hand, send the Hood in."

"The Hood?" Shaw wrinkled his nose. "Why do we have to put up with that two-bit thug?"

"Shaw, I realise we're businessmen of the highest order, but sometimes we have to dirty our hands with the likes of the Hood to get things done," Osborn soothed.

Shaw nodded reluctantly as his office door swung open. "True enough."

Osborn glanced towards the Hood. "Parker, thank you for coming. Please take a seat." Osborn waited until the man had sat before continuing. "How many mental manipulators are there in your gang?"

Parker leaned forward, eyes fixed on him. "Mr. Fear, Scarecrow, Mind-Wave, Miracle Man, Mirage, and Mentallo."

"Excellent, then I want you to get one of your teleporters to transport them over to the west coast to stir up ill feeling against the mutant contingent." Osborn smiled.

"Then when the public outrage is such it can't be reasonably ignored, I'll send 'our' X-men in to deal with Cyclops and his brood." Osborn paused. "Of course should you require assistance, my Avengers will be ready and willing to come to your aid."

"Norman old boy," Shaw chuckled. "What a perfectly splendid plan."

* * *

Cage scowled out onto the darkened city, huge hands clenching and unclenching as he stood on the fire escape outside his apartment. He could only imagine the turmoil erupting on the streets, the people who looked to him and his ilk for protection discovering only victimisation and fear, and him helpless to help them.

To do his damn job.

Rage roared through him, but with it the impotent frustration that there was nothing he could do. Not against powers like the Sentry or Rulk, or more to the point, against the police officers and authority of the American government.

He might rail against the 'man', but he wasn't the Punisher, and wouldn't battle cops merely doing their job.

He stiffened at an assertive knock on the door. "Coming," he growled before striding back through his apartment and throw the door open to find a man dressed entirely in white under a full-length black leather coast. "Kasper Cole, White Tiger, what you doin' here dawg?"

"Hey, can I come in?" Cage nodded silently and stepped out of the doorway. "Thanks," the slighter but still athletically-built man hurried in. "I assume you've heard of Black Panther's offer of amnesty for any metas who wish to leave theUS. for Wakanda?"

"Heard it, not interested."

"Why not?" White Tiger spread his hands in supplication. "I know that bastard Osborn's lifted your licence, so you can't operate, what have you got to stay for?"

It figured that Cole as a former protégé of Black Panther would take up T'Challa's offer. "Africamight be in my blood but this is my country," Cage shook his head. "I ain't bein' run out, not by Osborn or anyone."

"And what use is you being here when you can't do your job?"

"You can go, but I'm staying." Cage scowled. "There's rebellion in the air, sides are gonna have to be taken, and why that moment comes, I'll stand with my friends, not safe in a foreign country."

"And maybe you can do more outside the US?" Cole suggested.

Cage threw his head back and laughed a hard laugh. "And how does that work? How do I help my people from outside theUS?" He shook his head. "Osborn can try whatever he wants, I'm not shifting."

* * *

Doors imploded on every side of the brownstone as heavily armoured HAMMER agents stormed into the HYDRA den. Osborn smiled as he watched, cameras recording every action for release to the press. It would make excellent copy for the six o'clocknews.

And deeply ironic considering Von Strucker was the one who'd offered up his subordinates on a plate as part of their deal.

* * *

Rain sheeted down as the winds battered the trio of arguing men, stygian night blanketing them from view. "IDIOT! You killed one of the boss' girls! The Arabs were promised ten, not nine!"

"Hey," the tallest of the three shook his head. "Play it cool-."

"You should have thought of that before you blew that whore away in the first place!"

"Bitch tried to scratch my face off," the tallest of the three commented. "'Sides, we've got two days before the exchange, we can make a snatch, get another. We've got plenty of time-."

"Boys," Castle's hoarse tones floated out of the night, "your time's just run out." The three men had barely begun to turn, to react to his voice, when he pulled on his silenced rifle's trigger three times, three shells exploding the three men's heads.

Castle pulled out a camera and started snapping. He'd had a busy night, shutting down a terrorist arms buy, two drugs dens, an upscale but unlicensed casino, and this white slavery ring. When all this hit the papers tomorrow, well, he smiled thinly, Osborn's propaganda about New York being cleaned up would be utterly destroyed.

It had taken him a while to realise, but these days wars were won with more than just guns and knives.


	5. Chapter 5

**FIC: Darker Reign (5/?)**

"You can't seriously be telling -."

"Robin," Giles patiently interrupted Robin's enraged tirade, "you have to be reasonable here. If we openly assist Xander and Faith's escape, it'll jeopardise our diplomatic immunity-."

"And we should care why!" snapped Robin.

"Because part of our agreements that gets us our diplomatic immunity is the agreement that the Slayer will never be used against a nation's government," Giles patiently replied. "It's an accord that ensured our agents' safe passage and uninterrupted operation through-out any number of conflicts in the past centuries. I can't endanger that, if I did, it'll wreck centuries of work building up these agreements."

"Well there's got to be some spell influencing the American government that made them give Osborn such an influential post!"

Giles bit back a comment that the American government had a history of making bone-headed decisions on the basis that his own government was hardly lily white in that or any respect. "And if you present me with proof of that, then of course it will change things," he chose his words carefully, very conscious that their phones could well be tapped despite of the extensive technological and magical encryptionWillowhad put on them. "But until them, I'm going to leverage every political contact I have on Faith and Xander's behalf to ensure they get treated with kid gloves."

Wood snorted. "You think politics and diplomacy are going to stop a mad dog like Osborn?"

Giles grimaced. In truth he didn't, but he had to use whatever tools he had available to him, no matter how ill-suited they were to the task in hand. "Osborn has a high-ranking position in the American government, but there are others above him, the Attorney-General, the President himself. There are channels-."

"Channels-."

"Look," Giles snapped then took a calming breath. "I assume you've seen the Avengers' grand unveiling on TV?"

"I've seen it. What of it?" Wood demanded.

Giles' temper and patience were at about an end. "Then you've seen the bloody power this man has at his disposal,Willowaside we can't stand up to them!"

"So we just give them up?"

Giles' grimaced at the younger man's disdainful tone. "Of course not you blithering fool, but we fight a fight we can actually win, not the head-on physical one, the political one. We ensure that the political fall-out resulting from hurting them will be too much for Osborn to countenance."

"That sounds thin," Wood accused.

Giles sighed then nodded ruefully. "I know. Unfortunately, that's all we have."

"Well if you need anything-."

"I'll be in touch," Giles hung up then stared mutely at the phone sitting silently on his desk. More than anything in the world he didn't want to make this phone call, but he had to make it. "Bloody hell," he growled as he reached out and picked the phone up, fingers angrily stabbing out a number on the dial.

On the ninth ring the phone was picked up, a cool, haughty voice speaking out. "Hello, Director Osborn's office, Victoria Hand speaking, how may I direct your call?"

"Ms. Hand," Giles put on his most urbane voice, his accent practically etched into every syllable. "My name is Rupert Giles, I am currently chairman of the organisation known as the Watchers Council. Director Osborn will want to speak to me."

"Oh," the woman's voice remained unruffled. "He was expecting a call from you. I'll put you through Chairman Giles."

"Thank you," Giles stiffly replied.

"Ah," Giles' nerves grated at the sneer in the former Green Goblin's voice, "Chairman Giles, a pleasure. I don't suppose you're calling with the whereabouts of those two fugitives of yours?"

"I'm afraid not," Giles' temper hung by a thread, but his tone remained civil. It needed to be, for them. "I'm calling with a request that you keep in mind this organisation's political power when dealing with Xander and Faith."

"I'm dreadfully sorry." Giles ground his teeth together when Osborn let out a hoarse chuckle. The bastard was enjoying this! "But it is the strict policy of this administration that all criminals be treated the same regardless of race, colour, wealth, or influence."

"Neither Xander or Faith have done a thing wrong!" Giles growled.

"If you're correct, I'm sure these things will come out in the court," Osborn paused. "Of course, that's unless this Slayer is true to her reputation and something untoward occurs during her capture, yes most unfortunate."

Giles' knuckles whitened as he clenched tightly to the phone. The bastard was telling him exactly what he planned to do to Faith and by association to Xander. "I must reiterate that the Watchers Council will be most unhappy if any harm comes to either of them."

"These things unfortunately happen when people attempt to flee the law," Osborn smoothly replied. "Any ill feelings on the Council's part will be most unfortunate, but I've been considering whether HAMMER's purview should be extended to the supernatural. So if you do consider removing yourself from these shores over this matter, well I'm sure we'll manage."

"I never said anything about neglecting our duties," Giles replied, a heat rising in his cheeks at the meta-villain's inference. "But I warn you, I have no intention of allowing any harm to come to either Xander or Faith, and I will be meeting with every high-level contact to reinforce to them our organisation's support of them."

"You do what you have to do," Osborn sounded almost bored, as if he'd had all the sport he could manage. "Now, we're both busy men, so if there's nothing else, good bye, Chairman Giles."

Giles glared at the phone before slamming it down. "God damn that man!" he blustered even as his stomach hollowed at the thought of that man and his allies hunting his son. His fists clenched helplessly together, knuckles whitening as he tried and failed to think of a way he could help Xander stay safe, some way more than just a few phone calls.

* * *

Fort Knox

"Hello boys, you wouldn't want to hurt me would you?" the girl's purr had the highly-trained and battle-hardened soldiers dropping their assault rifles, their eyes dreamy as they parted before her and her companions, giving them unhindered passage through the gates of the United States Bullion Depository.

Remote control tanks thundered over the crest of a hill to their left the moment they were through the gates, the ground they were stood upon shaking underfoot. Jimmy Woo cast the tanks an untroubled glance. "Namora, M-11, take care of them."

The Atlantis native and the robot flew into the air, seamlessly flying into the tanks, ripping through the heavily-armoured tanks like they were constructed of nothing more than paper. Satisfied the situation was under control, Jimmy continued leading his group towards the main building. "Marvel Boy," Jimmy spoke into his wrist communicator. "Take the roof off." Jimmy looked up as their flying saucer flew and hovered over the building, transmuting through the ceiling in time to meet them in the building's lobby, Namora and M-11 tearing through the building's side.

Jimmy raised an eyebrow as a dozen or more heavily armed men raced into the lobby. As there wasn't time for Venus to do her magic, he looked towards M-11. "If you please?"

Electricity lanced from the robot's out-stretched palms, blue streaks hitting each and every of the soldiers, flinging them senseless but alive to the ground. "Thank you, M-11." Jimmy Woo strode to the building's rear and paused. "Marvel Boy, could you transmute the vault door for us, please?" Woo smiled as a purple ray hit the vault door. "Thank you." He led his team through the now intangible door.

Gorilla Man let out a whistle as he surveyed the ingots upon ingots stacked throughout the vast safe. "Okay, Jimmy boy, you got us here, and this is a butt-load of gold for sure, but how in the hell are we gonna get this outta here?"

Woo shot the Gorilla Man an amused look. "You're forgetting our friendly Uranian can shrink it to a hundredth of the size, then expand it back to its normal size. You get moving the gold, while I do this." Woo fiddled around with his wrist communicator then pointed it to the wall. "I want to make a call."

A widow-peaked projection appeared on the far wall, the man's face creasing in outrage. "Who is this!"

"Hello Director Osborn," Woo smirked at the former Green Goblin. "I just thought it was polite to call you and tell you the Atlas Foundation are making a withdrawal fromFortKnox-."

"Who the hell -."

"After all, I really don't think all these black projects you were going to use this money to fund were really in the national interest do you?" Woo smirked at the HAMMER director's bulging eyes. "I'll be seeing you soon."

"OH YOU CAN COUNT ON THAT!" Spittle flew from Osborn's mouth as his fist slammed impotently against his desk.

* * *

"Hello," the costumed beauty took a breath before continuing. "As I'm sure you're all aware I'm Ms. Marvel, and in that capacity I fought alongside Tony Stark, Iron Man, in support of the Superhero Registration Act. However," the blonde paused before taking another breath. "When I supported the Superhero Registration Act, I never dreamed that the government, any government, would be so imprudent as to give the control of our law enforcement to a madman with such a sordid not to mention violent record. A man with grudges against many who willingly registered in the belief that their names would be protected, not given to a raving, super-powered psychopath!" Ms. Marvel leaned forward. "Day after day, meta-humans risk their lives to protect each and every one of you, not for pay, but because they choose to, they cannot turn away. Well, I'm sure you can't turn away when our long-established laws are flouted and ignored by a madman!"

Osborn's teeth ground together as he watched the video come to an end. "I trust this has been taken off youtube?"

"Yes," Hand hesitated. "However it had been viewed over a quarter of a million times in the few hours before we managed to track its initial host down, and it has spread to several other computers."

"Then put a virus out on the web contaminating any computer hosting it," Osborn snapped. "I don't care how, but I want rid of that damn thing!"

"Yes sir," Hand hesitated. "If I might suggest, Major Danvers has more than a few skeletons in her closet, her drinking etc. Perhaps you could do a counter interview highlighting these deficiencies?"

"No," Osborn decided after a second. "That would be too petty." Osborn smiled. "However, a few calculated leaks pointing out this woman's many flaws would be just perfect."

Hand smiled. "I'll get right on it sir."

"Oh and Hand," the red-head paused by his office door. "I'm going to want some positive press to counter this."

"We have just the thing planned for tomorrow." Hand smiled when he raised an eyebrow in an unspoken request for clarification. "We've pinpointed the location of several crimelords deemed surplus to requirement. I thought it best that they be publicly apprehended?"

Osborn leaned back in his chair, good humour returning. "What a good idea."

* * *

Harlem, NY

Tombstonelaughed as he crashed a straight right into the nearest HAMMER agent's face, shattering his riot helmet's visor and flinging him through the doorway, the floor littered with the unmoving bodies of the HAMMER agents. He swatted away a hand-held battering ram, grabbed its wielder around the throat, and flung him head-first into the wall with enough force to crack the already chipped plaster. "Is this the best you've got Os-."

His voice trailed off, blood chilling as a thick-set figure with brooding eyes and a square jaw burst through the doorway. A god, he couldn't fight a -. Rage filled him as he leapt forward, fist swinging out in a haymaker that carried all his power within it.

"I think not," Ares thundered as he caught his fist in his palm and held it with insulting ease. Tombstone's legs almost buckled when Ares caught him with a stunning slap to the face. "Not even a challenge," rumbled the Olympian God Of War as he grabbed Tombstone around the throat and ever so casually flung him through the window.

* * *

Harlem, NY

"You'se boys can't becoming in here, disrupting a honest lady's work!" Black Mariah squawked, the obese black woman's thickly flabby arms catching agent after agent, flinging them away from her, those fortunate enough to avoid her flailing arms getting skewered by her 'knitting needles'.

"Black Mariah," Moonstone grinned as the black woman spun to face her as she flew through the window, "if there's one thing I know it's dishonest women, and from one to another, there's nothing reputable or honest about you." The woman's entire rotund torso wobbled as she waddled towards Moonstone, Moonstone's hand swinging up to shoot a laser bolt into the woman's ample chest, knocking her to the floor. "Or durable."

* * *

Todd Keller strode across his stage, prowling it like a lion, his customary smirk etched clean across his face. "Day after day, night after night, I open my bag of mail, read my email account. And what do I find?" Keller shook his head, disgust replacing his smirk. "Complaint after complaint about Norman Osborn being in charge of law enforcement for our great nation. They say he's a madman, they say he can't be trusted, they say he's a criminal." Keller sunk into his upholstered seat, his fist slamming into the desk before him. "And do you know what I say?" Keller leaned forward in his seat, grinning into the camera lens. "Look at his results! Only today, HAMMER agents, backed by Osborn's Avengers and Thunderbolts, raided addresses throughoutNew York, and arrested numerous crime lords. InHarlem, Black Mariah andTombstonewere apprehended. InChinatown, Mr. Negative was arrested. Hammerhead and the Owl were likewise brought in, in Hell's Kitchen, as was Jigsaw inBrooklyn." Keller paused for a second. "In one day, he took down six serious ganglords. In one day." Keller paused again. "Imagine what he could accomplish in a year?"

"It must be quite a balm to your ego, having your own press agent." Kingpin commented as he turned off the huge TV fixed on his office wall.

"Hardly," Osborn's nose wrinkled, "I find fawning flunkies of his type irritating for want of a better word. Still, propaganda is a weapon that any general worth his salt keeps handy in his arsenal. And if you tell a big enough lie and keep repeating it, people will eventually come to believe it."

"Joseph Goebbels?" Kingpin's face remained inscrutable. "Interesting."

"I have these files," Osborn dropped them on the thick set crimelord's desk, "detailing everything we were able to find out about these gangsters' activities, contacts, subordinates, places of business. As agreed, you can move in, and take over." He paused. "But do it quietly."

"Of course," Kingpin's urbane expression didn't waver in the slightest. "Discretion is essential in both our works." Kingpin chuckled softly. "Stealth is after all another weapon any general worth his salt keeps handy."

Osborn nodded stiffly. "I'm glad we understand each other."


	6. Chapter 6

**FIC: Darker Reign (6/?)**

"Shit, shit!" Faith cursed as she crouched over a sewer grille and pulled it out, muscles writhing with an effort. They'd been in a New Jersey McDonalds when a news report on their fugitive status had come up, and she'd noticed a woman eying them up, and not in a good way, while making what she probably thought was a discreet phone call, so she and Xander had rabbited from the fast food place.

Damn, she knew it had been a mistake to go to an actual restaurant, but she'd spent her teen years eating from dumpsters, and didn't intend repeating the unsavoury experience.

Faith reared back in disgust as the stench wafted up from out of the hole. "You expect us to go down there?"

Faith glanced towards Xan. "Listen, Moanin' Mini, you're the one who nagged to come onto the expedition, now less you wanna go one on one with a bunch of HAMMER goons, get down the damn hole!"

Faith felt instantly bad at her outburst. After all Xander had only come on this trip through some misguided urge to protect her. At least her words got her honey shifting, Xander practically leaping into the hole. After a furtive glance in either direction, and mindful of the probably closing fast pursuit, Faith followed suit.

The ladder's rusted rungs shuddered as she hurriedly climbed down, Faith's stomach curdling as she noticed the slime rolling off the walls and the greenish sludge rushing through the tunnel underfoot. "This is gonna be fun."

"Which way?" Xander whispered.

Faith looked left and right. "Left." To her either way didn't look any different from the other but they couldn't just dawdle. "Have we got much money left?"

"Why are you asking about money?" Xander queried.

"After gettin' outta this crap, we're gonna need to find a thrift shop and buy some new clothes."

"Ahh," Xander grimaced. "Clothes shopping, imagine my joy."

* * *

"Come on stud." Her eyes constantly shifting, watching for any possible observers, Faith reached down into the hole and grabbed Xander's wrist, helping her boy-friend out of the sewer and into the only slightly more rarefiedNew Jerseyback street alley. "Now about that thrift store."

"Yeah," Xander wrinkled his nose as he looked around the alley, "looking at this place, there's bound to be a few around."

"Yeah," Faith looked around as they hurried out of the alley, noting the derelict buildings, boarded-up shop fronts, and rusting parked cars. It might be a different city, but it was so much like the area she grew up in, it was practically home.

"Hey," Xander pointed across the street to a dusty windowed shop front, "a Salvation Army store."

"Wicked," Faith led her boyfriend across the thankfully empty street, slimy water dripping off her with every step.

The shop itself was also largely empty, a severe faced woman with grey hair and glasses perched on a hooked nose meeting them at the door. "Good gracious," the woman sniffed. "What it that smell?"

"Yeah," Faith ignored the woman's disdain. "Sewer line blew out outside our house, flooded the damn place. Our house, everything, stinks. We need some clean clothes."

"Yes well," the woman sniffed. "I can see that. The women's attire is to the left, the men to the right. I'm sure you'll find something to wear."

"Thanks." Faith hurried over and began rummaging through the racks of clothes. She grunted in dismay at the offerings, Jesus, it looked like only the middle-aged and elderly gave freely to judge from the flowery crap on offer. "Score," Faith's eyes widened as she spied a black hoodie only to shake her head in disgust as she realised it was a minimum three sizes too big. "Damn." She continued her search, grinning slightly as she noticed a pair of grey cargo-pants, not her colour, but definitely her size. "Huh." Faith shook her head as she found a frilly pink crop top that was her size, but most definitely not her. "Not even on a bet." Faith's eyes fell onto a black turtleneck sweater. "Oh yeah, it'll do." Faith pulled out a couple of white t-shirts, and a denim wifebeater. "Now some shoes." Faith's nose wrinkled as she searched through unsuitable heels and suitable but too small sneakers before finally coming across a pair of brown hiking boots in her size. "Score."

Faith quickly changed, discarding her ruined clothes in a bin, and hurried out of the changing room to collapse with laughter when Xander walked out of the changing rooms wearing a miserable expression and leather pants and a silk burgundy shirt. "HA!" Faith said between snorts and giggles. "I never realised Angelus did charity. Who looks like a cute brooding vampire?"

"SHUT. UP." Xander replied through gritted teeth, cheeks flushing. "Let's just pay and leave."

Faith was still grinning as they hurried out of the store, spirits lifted by Xander's woebegone expression. Faith pulled up sharp at an alley entrance, the hairs on the back of her neck prickling uneasily. Heart thundering, Faith glanced around, eyes narrowing as she noticed the street was even more empty than before, tumbleweeds practically whistling up the quiet street. "Shit," she hissed as she grabbed Xander's arm, "it's a trap, down the alley fast."

Faith turned on her heel and pulled Xander down the alleyway, shadows engulfing the passageway, steel trash cans lying on either side of the alley, rubbish spilling out over its cobbles. "Shit!" Faith reared to a halt when a quintet of heavily armed HAMMER agents appeared in the alleyway's far end. Her mouth dried as she peered over her shoulder to see another five agents starting down the alley behind her.

"Brief says bring them in, and we don't have to be gentle."

Oh goody, Faith glanced at Xander, unsurprisingly it looked like HAMMER hired from the thug end of the gene pool. Go figure.

"Take the five at the back, I'll take the five in the front," Faith muttered.

"Oh this is going to end so well," Xander replied.

Faith surged forward, sidestepping the lead thug's stun-stick en-route to hooking her hands around the back of his riot helmet and yanking him down into an upswinging knee that shattered his visor and re-decorated his face in crimson. Sensing a thug coming at her from her left, Faith stepped into and around the man's crackling stun-stick then drove the point of her elbow up, through his visor, and into his face.

Bone shattered as the man fell, Faith leaping over another's attempted taser to roundhouse kick him in the head. Faith landed in a crouch, fists coming up in a boxer's stance. "AAAAAAH!" Faith screamed, every nerve ending jarring as one of the men caught her with a taser. Lower limbs wobbly she was helpless to avoid a second taser, legs buckling beneath her.

"Harris, Lehane, wherever you go there's trouble."

* * *

Blade dropped off the building's roof, his thickly muscled limbs a blur as he threw, punched, kicked, elbowed and kneed the HAMMER goons away. The HAMMER agents charged in, but crumpled before his attack, unable to so much as lay a finger on him as he glided between them, dealing out carnage with effortless skill.

The moment of the last remaining HAMMER enforcers crashed to the ground, Blade leapt over to the Slayer and helped her to her feet, blood leaking from her nose and lip, and her dark eyes glassy. "Thanks for the assist," Xander groaned as he pulled himself up to his feet.

"I heard about the alert on you," Blade growled. "And I figured I owed you one for the fight inBaltimore."

"Well thanks," Xander nodded then groaned again, grabbing his head.

"You should have a lead now," Blade commented before melting back into the darkness, smiling slightly as he heard the Slayer caustically comment on his 'sunny nature'.

* * *

Osborn's teeth gnashed constantly as he made his way into the derelict warehouse, hands stuffed in his pocket. Ten HAMMER agents in the hospital, thwarted by a mere trio, Blade and the Slayer barely qualifying as metas. Those incompetent bastards better look for new jobs when they get out of hospital, and they could pay their own damn hospital bills.

"Looks like someone's got their panties in a twist."

Osborn looked towards the speaker, a man wearing a black outfit with a white bullseye on the forehead. "Not in the mood, Lester," he warned as he cast a look around the room's other occupants.

Slaymaster. A lean, black-costumed man with a green helmet.

Crossfire. A thickly-muscled man clad in a red and white costume with a white cross on his chest.

Vic Slaughter. A pale, haggard-faced vampire with wild white hair.

Cutthroat. A man with a green cloak and blue costume.

Five of the dirtiest, most talented assassins in the world, perfect for what he wanted. "I want two deaths, a woman and a man, I don't care how hard or nastily they die, I just want them dead within the month. The man brings two million, the woman five, if the same person brings me both heads, they'll get ten million. I don't care about collateral damage, just keep these deaths out of the press, and get it done."

* * *

"So we're here."

"Real talent for the obvious, Graham." Finn replied as they climbed out of their cab and peered up at the skyscraper.

"Why do you think the Director wants to see us?" Graham queried.

"I don't know." Riley let out a long sigh. Ever since the Demonic Research Initiative had been disbanded following the Mass Calling, something about the government not wishing to fund an organisation that whose purpose could be more than adequately covered by the now surplus of Slayers, he and Miller had transferred over to SHIELD. In the brief few tumultuous weeks since Osborn had taken over and changed the organisation's name to HAMMER they'd considered leaving but had decided to stay, reasoning that they were minor cogs in the machine, and might be able to prevent some misbehaviour by the men in their team, and besides, the way SHIELD\HAMMER went through directors, Osborn would be gone in a year or so.

But now, the man himself, Norman Osborn, super-villain and serial murderer, had summonsed them to his office.

It was more than a little worrying.

Graham glanced at him as they hurried through the revolving door and into the gleaming lobby. Minutes later and they were being ushered into Osborn's top floor office.

"Agents Finn, Miller," the HAMMER Director didn't bother to look up at their entrance. "Please, take a seat." Osborn finally consented to look up the moment the pair of them had sat. "Your records are interesting, your previous careers in the military especially." Osborn paused. "In particular your time in Sunnydale."

Finn and Miller exchanged looks as they waited for the shoe to drop. "That was a frantic time, Director," Finn carefully replied.

"Yes, Professor Walsh had some interesting ideas in the creation of super-soldiers," Osborn murmured. "It's just unfortunate that her execution failed to match her concepts."

Finn shot Miller a warning look as he sensed his companion stiffening beside him. "However," the previously insane billionaire continued. "Ever since then, both your records have been exemplary."

"Thank you sir," Finn managed to get the words out.

"As two former special forces operative you understand the importance of the chain of command of course?" Osborn smiled at their nods. "Excellent. During your time in Sunnydale you encountered a Ms. Faith Lehane, I understand?"

Finn stiffened. 'Encountered' was an unusually diplomatic way of describing his meeting with Faith. "Yes sir."

"And you've no reason to feel particularly favourable towards her then?" Osborn pressed.

"That's a fair assessment, sir."

"Excellent," Osborn smiled then leaned forward in his seat. "Ms. Lehane has been accused of treason and stealing sensitive secrets from this office."

"I have no problem with believing that, sir."

"Of course you don't," Osborn's smile reminded him of a South American cobra. On balance, he'd even trust Faith before him. "She and her boy-friend, Xander Harris," Miller let out a low surprised grunt that Riley felt but didn't echo, "have gone on the run together. I'm putting you two in charge of an eight man unit to bring them in. Use your personal knowledge of the fugitives, do what it takes, just stop them!"

Riley forced his shaking legs under control. "We'll get right on it sir."

"Excellent," Osborn nodded. "Succeed in this and the sky will be the limit." Osborn paused. "The briefing pack is outside with my receptionist. I want results fast."

"Yes sir." He and Miller saluted Osborn before fleeing the office.

Conscious of the probability that the office was extensively bugged, neither he nor Miller spoke until they were out on the street's busy sidewalk. "Do you actually believe that line Osborn tried to sell us?"

"About Faith maybe, but Xander no way," Finn replied.

"So what are we going to do about this?" Miller queried.

"I have no idea yet," Finn glumly admitted as they got into the black-tint windowed SUV complete with gleaming grille waiting for them on the sidewalk.

* * *

"As anti-mutant rioting erupted throughoutSan Francisco, its streets burning in a tide of hatred, and the local police barely contain the protesters, this reporter wonders what it will take for the national government to step in."

Osborn chuckled softly as he turned the TV off. If that wasn't a call to arms, he didn't know what was. His mind-manipulators had done their job agitating the locals, now it was time to move onto the next stage of his plan. "Ms. Hand," he turned his desk intercom on. "Please send Ms. Darkholme in."

* * *

Prowler blinked as they stepped out of Cloak's teleportation portal, Dagger, Devil-Slayer, and Kasper Cole alongside him. As far as he knew they were the first to take up the Wakandan monarch's offer of amnesty in his nation. And what a nation, Prowler's breath caught in his throat as he peered up at the entrance. Two hundred feet high stone panthers flanked the palace's arched entrance, a dozen stone steps leading up it. The sun blazed down relentlessly on them, and the near-by thigh-high grass swayed slightly in the gentle breeze.

"Big kitties," muttered Devil-Slayer.

"They're not kitties, they're representations of the Wakandan god, Bast," Kasper muttered. "Don't call them kitties unless you want beheading."

"Duly noted," Devil-Slayer grunted.

"Hey," Prowler blinked again when a dozen, supple-muscled black women clad only in metallic bikinis and brandishing spears came out of the palace and started down the ancient steps heading towards them, "look honeys."

Kasper let out a short laugh. "They're the dora milaje, women selected by the king from rival tribes to serve as his personal guard and ceremonial wives-in-training. Touching them is considered a capital crime."

Prowler groaned. "This place is gonna be a whole lot of fun."

* * *

T'Challa stared down from his throne and at the security screen to his right. He nodded slightly as he noted the arrivals outside his palace. It wasn't a lot of heroes, but it was a start. The resistance began here.


	7. Chapter 7

**FIC: Darker Reign (7/?)**

San Diego

"Connor!" Angel hollered as he watched his son spar with one of his best friends. "If you concentrate, you can take him, remember your advantages over Groo, you're faster, stronger."

"Kid fights with heart, not with his head, can be useful, win fights you should lose."

Angel glared at Spike. "And lose fights you should win."

"Maybe," the laconic vampire smirked. "But when you fight with your heart, you really live."

"Great," Angel shook his head. Arguing dime store philosophy with the biggest fly in his firm's ointment wasn't exactly his perfect start to a day, and five years on from the fall of Los Angeles, and he still wasn't sure why Spike had stayed on.

But then, he wasn't sure why Illyria had stayed either, or why Kate Lockley had joined the team, and Gwen Raiden too, the latter having sunk several million of her ill-gotten gains into re-establishing the organisation. Even a witch, an old rival ofWillow's, Amy Madison had joined their group, seeking redemption. But despite all the doubts, one thing he was sure of, was his firm still helped people.

But god he still missed Doyle, Cordy, Fred, Gunn, and Wes. All soldiers fallen in an eternal war that most didn't even know was going on.

"Vampire," his haunches rose atIllyria's always rankling tone came from the reception foyer. "It appears we have visitors."

Angel rose off the bench and started towards the dojo door, glancing over his shoulder in irritation when he saw Spike following behind. "Why are you coming?"

"New clients," Spike smirked. "I was always better at the public relations bit. Comes from my effusive personality."

"Oh happy day," Angel grumbled.

His mood took an even more severe downturn when he entered the lobby to find a blue-eyed, orange-haired man dressed in a ten thousand dollar business suit flanked by a towering figure with flowing blond hair that he recognised as Thor and a second towering figure with long black hair that he recognised as Ares. "Oh bloody hell," Spike muttered.

Angel's stomach lurched as he realised just how utterly out-classed the firm was against any one of the trio standing in his lobby. Angel forced his gaze to remain steady as he stared at Osborn, praying to a God he'd not prayed to in centuries that for once Spike didn't flap his gums too much. "Mr. Osborn, how can we help you?"

Osborn smirked at him. "I prefer Director Osborn when I'm here on official business. You're not licensed are you?"

"We fly under the radar," Angel conceded.

"Our registration's in the post, with our MOT certificate and Road Tax," Spike unhelpfully added.

Osborn glanced at Spike, smirked, and looked back at Angel. "That's not a major problem. We're shutting down on rogue organisations, but apart from that little incident in LA, you've a relatively clean record. Of course, your less than glorious pasts are a slight concern, but who amongst us doesn't have mistakes?" Osborn's smirk disappeared, revealing the snake in a suit beneath. "Of far greater concern is your association-."

"We do not need to justify ourselves to worms like you," Angel groaned inwardly when Illyria opened her big mouth, "you were muck underfoot when the Old Ones ruled the cosmos."

"HA!" Ares let out an amused groan as he glared down at Illyria. "I remember the Old Ones, they had power. But you, you're nothing more than a little girl."

Angel stepped betweenIllyria and the hulking Greek god before the situation could escalate. "Look, if you want us to fill out any paperwork for registration, I'll get it done and someone will email it to you in the morning."

"Oh we don't need to worry about that," Osborn waved a nonchalant hand. "However," the HAMMER Director's eyes narrowed. "Of rather graver concern is your associates-."

"My team members are non-negotiable," Angel folded his arms.

"How loyal," Osborn murmured, his smile broadening as he shook his head. "No, I'm referring to the Slayer, Faith Lehane, and her boy-friend and Watcher, Xander Harris. Both have been accused of a raft of charges, the most serious being treason, but also assault, identity fraud, and resisting arrest."

"Oh that's a load of bollocks-."

Spike fumed as Angel waved him to silence. "As my undiplomatic partner said, Faith and Xander wouldn't betray the US.."

"The whelp hasn't got the brains for one," Spike growled.

"Nevertheless," Osborn seemed unflustered by their protests. "Faith Lehane and Xander Harris now inhabit positions number two and number three on HAMMER's Most Wanted List-."

"Two and three? Now I'm just jealous," Spike grumbled.

"We intend to hunt them down and pursue them to the fullest extent of the law. Any organisation that gives them any help will feel the full weight of the law come down on them. And I imagine neither of you would do particularly well in a sun-facing cell." Osborn smiled. "Gentlemen, lady, congratulations on becoming the newest members of the HAMMER Initiative."

Spike spun to face him the moment the door had closed behind their guests. "That is a load of bollocks!" he snarled. "I've got no love for the whelp or the Slayer," Spike paused. "Even if she is nicely bouncy, but whatever, you can't serve them up to that prat."

"I've no intention of doing anything of the sort." Angel glanced at the phone. He'd lay smart money on them being bugged and under the surveillance at the very least, so openly warning them was out, but there was one thing they could do. Mind racing, Angel quickly recorded a new answering machine message. "Thank you for phoning Angel Investigations,San Diego's newest personally approved by Norman Osborn himself, affiliated organisation under the HAMMER initiative. Please leave a message after the beep."

"That's it?" Spike shook his head, eyes wide and incredulous. "That's all you're going to do?"

"Goddamn it, Spike!" Angel's temper snapped as his fist crashed down on the desk before him. "What do you expect us to do, against them? You've seen Osborn's press conferences! His escort today wasn't even half of the strength he can muster against us! Tell me what you think we should do!"

Spike stared impotently back at him. "I don't know," his grand-childe finally, sulkily admitted. "But there should be something."

"Yes," Angel sighed as he slumped back in his seat, weariness replacing the adrenalin filling him. "There should be."

"You could call ol' Rupes," Spike suddenly suggested. "If he doesn't already know about this, he needs to. And if he already knows, but can contact them, he needs to tell them to stay the hell away from 'ere."

Angel groaned at Spike's suggestion then nodded as he reluctantly reached for his cell phone. Clearly it was going to be a day for uncomfortable conversations.

* * *

"That meeting went well," Osborn declared as their tinted-windowed SUV carried them to the exclusive airfield where his private jet waited.

"You should have stomped on that detective agency like the gnat it is," Ares declared.

"Oh no," Osborn disagreed with a shake of his head. "Too showy, too much potential bad publicity. Leave the agency open, then if the Slayer does stumble here, the men we have watching it will alert us, and then we'll have more than enough reason to close them down. Alternatively," Osborn shrugged, "we've at least closed off an option for her."

"And a warrior without options becomes reckless, dangerous," Ares rumbled.

"Precisely." Osborn smiled as they reached the airfield, their private plane ringed by gun-wielding HAMMER security.

"Where are we going to next?" rumbled the cybernetic Asgardian.

"Dallas," Osborn replied as their SUV pulled to a halt.

* * *

Osborn disembarked from his jet, his two companions following close behind, to be met by a withered old man with penetrating eyes and just a few wisps of grey hair on his head, and wearing a white lab coat. "Baron von Blitzschlag."

"Director Osborn," the former war criminal simpered as his gnarled fingers clung to the walking stick he leaned over. "I'm honoured to see you."

Osborn nodded. "And how's the project going?"

The withered Nazi fell in beside him. "We already have eight models in operational condition that survived from the previous project." The German stopped and looked towards him. "Speaking of which, why was I transferred here instead of the project's previous director?"

"Dr. Valerie Cooper isn't in favour with the current administration," Osborn half-smiled then sobered. "You were saying?"

"We're currently in the process of transferring robotics, electronics, and artificial intelligence experts here and ordering the parts they recommend," the Baron replied.

"Given the level of funding, we should have the first new SENTINEL ready within two to three months, and then we should be able to producefour to sixa month from that point on."

Osborn nodded. "And pilots for the SENTINELS?"

"That's rather more problematic," the aging Nazi grimaced. "Of the surviving pilots of the Office National Emergency, several either resigned when you took office or failed the altered psychological examinations you had administered."

"How many?" Osborn pressed.

"We have four fully trained pilots at our disposal," the Baron admitted. "We have another eighteen candidates ready to be trained, but even with the accelerated program, it'll take a minimum of two months before the first new pilot is ready, and with the increased rate of the program, so will the rate of burn-out."

Osborn nodded. "Keep testing volunteers, I want as many of those SENTINELS ready as soon as possible."

"Your wish, my command," the Baron wheedled. "Would you like a tour of our facility?"

* * *

Osborn glanced at his ringing phone and picked it up. "Yes, Ms. Hand?"

"A call from a Ms. Sasha Hammer, Director Osborn."

"Ah," Osborn nodded, "please put her through."

"Ah, Norman, a pleasure to speak to you," a sultry sounding woman purred at him, "and a pleasure to deal with such accommodating law enforcement."

"Well, I can't have domestic terrorists like American Eagle inhibiting your right to mine where you want to and inhibiting the right of good Americans to earn a decent living," he replied. "I'll have HAMMER agents transfer him fromArizona and to our special facility for meta-powered felons tomorrow."

"And then he'll out of our hair for good," Hammer's smirk was clear down the phone line.

Osborn smiled. "A reason for us all to celebrate."

* * *

"Mr. Wood's waiting on line three."

Giles forced a smile as he nodded towards his secretary, a silver-haired blonde whose efficient skills meant he just about kept his head above the floods of Council office work. "Thank you." Giles took a breath, he knew exactly what Wood would be phoning about, and he doubted it would be a pleasant conversation. "Please, put him through."

His secretary nodded before backing out. A few seconds later and his phone crackled into life. "Hey, Rupert," the African-American's deep voice unfortunately came through loud and clear. "I'm calling to see how things are going on the diplomatic front?"

Giles winced. Thanks to Willow's magics, he unfortunately couldn't hide behind pretended concern for the phone call being encrypted. While HAMMER had the best technological decryption and electronic surveillance in the world, it was his experience that technology didn't work well in combating magic and vice versa. Unfortunately that also meant he couldn't hide behind worries about phone-tapping to evade talking to his fellow Watcher. "I've run into a problem."

"What sort of a problem?" Wood angrily demanded.

Giles rubbed at his forehead. "Our efforts at the UN are going well, however our ambassador to theU. reluctant to exert pressure on behalf of a quote, convicted felon."

"WHAT!" Wood's explosion was as loud as it was predictable. "After all the good Faith's done since!"

"Yes," Giles dryly replied, "that argument did occur to me, but when I pointed it out, his retort was once a criminal always a criminal."

"You don't think that!"

"Of course I don't you blithering pillock," Giles retorted. "However getting an upper-crust twit who has never been to a ghetto much less met a street kid to believe that someone with Faith's background could reform is beyond the imagination of their tiny mind."

"So what are you going to do?" Wood demanded.

Giles gritted his teeth. He had no intention of admitting how truly helpless he was. "I'm going to continue arguing their case, using every favour I have, knocking on the door of every contact I have."

"And you think that's going to stop a power-mad nutcase like Osborn?"

Giles' hackles rose at the derision in Wood's voice but couldn't really argue against it. "Until you have a better idea, one that won't result in the annihilation or outlawing of the Council in the US., this is the only path we have."


	8. Chapter 8

**FIC: Darker Reign (8/?)**

Castle grunted as he forced his way to his feet, every muscle aching after a hard night raiding the dens of Osborn's cohorts. The first two raids, on an automobile cut-shop and a drugs factory, had gone to plan, but the third, on an arms factory networking weaponry throughout the east coast, he'd been hit bad.

Castle grunted as he looked down to see the crimson staining the bandages wrapped around his muscled torso, then glanced across at the bandage adorning his right deltoid, and finally at the bandage wrapped across his right bicep where a knife had almost severed the tendon. His head briefly swam as he swayed from side to side, still weak from blood loss.

"Son of a bitch," he grumbled as he pulled on a relatively clean T-shirt and decided to take his mind off the aches assailing him by taking inventory of the armoury secured on the opposite wall. He was half-way through the inventory when the computer he'd set up on the desk at the front of the van began to beep.

Perimeter alert. His blood froze even as he considered his options. If he knew his enemy, and he did, Osborn would react with an overwhelming display of force, no half measures or surgical strikes. Castle grimaced as he grabbed as much equipment as he could, the all-too familiar scream of air to land missiles filling his ears.

And then he opened the fridge, pulled out a test tube of stolen Pym Particles and threw it down his throat. Even as the world erupted into flames he was shrinking to a size small enough to avoid the missile strikes and the resulting infernos.

Minutes later he grew back to his normal size in the shadow of a devastated harbour warehouse, smoke's arid stench filling his lungs even as his ears crackled to the leaping flames' dance. Sweat dripped from him as he started through the dock's labyrinth passageways, hoping that the surrounding inferno hid his infrared signal from the HAMMER helicarrier hovering overhead.

Of course, he glided into the shadows as a pair of HAMMER agents raced by, that still left Osborn's goons. The moment the duo had passed by, he slunk out of the shadows, grabbed the pair by their heads and drove their skulls together.

Castle glanced over his shoulder as a buzzing joined the riot of noise throbbing in his ears. His eyes widened at the sight of a HAMMER agent on a hover-sled bearing down on him. Heart racing, he lunged towards one of the downed men's riot shields, scooped it up, then dived for a sewer grate. The grate opened with a screech as Castle flung himself down the hole, lifting the shield over his head. A sudden heat engulfed the shield as he crashed down in the sewer, water sloshing around him as he fell against the wall, groaning as the stitches in his left side tore with the impact and his right ankle twisted and at the least sprained with the fall.

Shrugging off the pain, Castle stumbled on, every tortured breath feeling like a dagger in his side and every step sending white-hot pain lancing up his injured leg. And then the sewer's left wall imploded, huge fragments of rock crashing into him as Ragnaork came through, eyes flashing.

Castle grunted as he hit the ground, dirty sewer water sloshing over him and despair filling as he raised his pair of Ingram MAC-10s and let loose with two magazines of armour-piercing ammunition.

Every bullet hit its target but bounced uselessly off the towering blond, Castle rolled right as lightning shot out of the cyborg's hammer, scorching the ground where he'd lain. Castle made it to his knees and drew his Mossberg 590, the shotgun shuddered in his hands as he put round after round into his impassive foe, explosive shells having as little effect as armour-piercing ones.

And then Ragnaork's hand was around his throat. Even as the spade-sized hand squeezed relentlessly at him, Castle reached forward and through blurring eyes slammed a piece of C4 to the warrior's shoulder.

The tunnel shook to the C4's explosion, debris falling from the ceiling, but the rebuilt cyborg remained oblivious, squeezing until Castle's neck snapped under the pressure, blood gushing from his mouth, nose, and ears.

* * *

"Shit," Faith stared with disdain around the $50 a night motel room they were staying in. Its minimal features and dreary decoration weren't quite as bad as the flophouses she'd stayed in as a kid when fleeing across country, but even so it didn't bring back any good memories. Faith glanced up as Xander came out of the bathroom, hair still wet and tracksuit pants pulled on, her mood lightening. At least this time she wasn't on her own.

Xander grinned at her. "Give me five minutes to get dressed, then I figure we'll go to the diner across the road, then move on, maybe take a bus or a cab toNewark?"

"Sounds good." Faith nodded and forced a smile. Their plan, such as it was, was to keep moving, not stay in the same place twice or to head in the same direction more than three days in a row, and always pay cash. So far it was a plan that was working, but Faith couldn't help but wonder for how long that would be true.

Faith rose sinuously, moving with the effortless grace characteristic of Slayers mixed in with a saucy self-confidence that was all uniquely her. "Which Ids we gonna use today if-." Faith paused, raising a hand to motion for silence as a floorboard creaked outside their room, Slayer senses kicking in, hairs prickling on the back of her neck.

And then the door burst open, and a tall, thickset man with white hair and skin, and lifeless eyes charged in, a supernatural blur that crashed a forearm into Faith's face as she attempted to sidestep him. Blood gushed from her mouth as she stumbled away, Xander lunging in only to receive a side-kick to the torso that left him doubled up and crumpling to the ground.

Faith snarled as she lunged back into the attack, feinting under a straight right to kick their attacker in the knee, knocking him back a step. "This is gonna be fun."

"More for me." Faith leaned to the left at the waist when her adversary shot out a right thrust kick that turned into a spin kick that caught Xander in the shoulder as he attempted to leap up and back into the attack, knocking him into the wall.

The man let out a throaty laugh before lunging back at her, Faith leaning this time to the left, snatching at the being's ankle as his leg came up in a thrust kick, and yanking him towards her into a backhand to the mouth. Blood flew from the being's mouth but he shrugged it off to lunge at her. Faith snarled as the thick-set man crashed into her, fists thudding into her with a greater than normal strength, but ignored the blows' crashing impact to wrap her arms around the man's thick midsection, bent backwards at the knees until she was parallel with the floor, and released her grip, flinging the man across the room, over the unmade bed, and into the far wall.

Leaping up, Faith spun to face her attacker, scooped up the bedside lamp, tore it free from the wall, and flung it at the man who contemptuously batted it out of the way, and through the window, and onto the firewalk outside. "Who the hell are you?" Faith demanded hoarsely as she spat blood onto the floor. "And what is your malfunction?"

The man smirked at her. "Name's Vic Slaughter, honey. I'm just one assassin hired to kill you and the best."

Faith forced a smirk as she edged towards the wardrobe at the edge of the bed. "If you're the best, we've got ain't nothin' to worry 'bout." Slaughter let out a roar. The moment the man lunged at her, Faith leapt up, grabbed the top of the wardrobe, and pulled hard.

Slaughter howled as the wardrobe crashed into him, bouncing him into the wall above the bed, Faith leaping up to meet him, her hands hooking around the back of his head, and yanking his face down into her upswinging knee.

Bone shattered and blood gushed out as the man somehow managed to grab two handfuls of her shirt as they landed and flung her into the far wall. Faith was half-way back to her feet when Xander charged back in, her heart skipping a beat as the man caught Xander by the back of his head and drove him face first into the wall. Rage filled her as she lunged up, and leapt the bed, dark mane snapping behind her.

Slaughter turned from driving Xander's face into the wall for a second time in time to see her flying towards her. The would-be assassin ducked under her feet but failed to see her arm snaking around his neck, cinching tight in a half-second, pulling him to the ground in a chokehold, Faith jerking savagely on his neck, snapping the bone. Faith spat blood onto the unmoving corpse. "He's done," she declared as she struggled to her feet. "You okay, stud?" Xander winced then nodded. "Wicked, but we best hustle 'case there's more assholes like him around."

* * *

"Osborn! I would have words with thee!"

Osborn came to a halt in mid-air when he spied Thor flying towards him. "Director Osborn," he corrected, voice as chill as the winds whistling around him.

"Your titles are meaningless to a god!" Thor roared as he came to a halt bare feet away, the air around the towering blond crackling with power. "I have seen you on your television with that abomination you pretend is me. I demand you-."

"Demand nothing," Osborn interrupted. His heart thundered as he considered the all-encompassing power of the Asgardian facing him but he kept his tone level and in control. "My title might mean nothing to you, but it means something in Miggard. It means I have the right to revoke the diplomatic immunity that Stark bestowed on your people if I think it was just another one of his misjudgements."

Thor bristled. "Do as you wish, but know this, I will not see my name sullied by that mechanical disgrace. Should you dare to use that machine I will turn it to slag."

"Attack Ragnarok and I will consider that an act of war," Osborn evenly replied. "You'll give me all the reason I need to invade you."

"Invade us?" Thor threw his head back, golden mane swaying in the wind, and roared a laugh before returning his gaze to Osborn, blue eyes boring through his metallic suit. "Then come, the Asgardians are born for war."

Osborn returned Thor's laugh with a smirk. "And how many of your precious humans would die in such a war? You pretend to care, but you're all willing to sacrifice their lives for pride." Before Thor could answer, Osborn flew off.

* * *

"Holy," Willow blinked as she stepped out of the portal she'd created to take her to Xander, Kennedy following behind, and peered out of the darkened alley entrance to see the southern colonial buildings, inter-mingled with the bars, restaurants, strip clubs, and souvenir shops, traffic hustling by and music filtering out from several near-by jazz clubs. "Where are we?"

"Well," Kennedy peered out from behind her and pointed to the left, "I'm no expert, but see that sign for 'The Bourbun Pub'? That's a famous gay nightclub I've always wanted to visit inNew Orleans."

"New Orleans?"Willow's brow furrowed as she shook her head. "What are you playing at Mister? We're all worrying about you and you're living it up in party central!"

"New Orleansis a big city, Willow." Her girl-friend's words forced her back to thoughts of her current situation. "I thought your spell would have brought us straight to Xander!"

"It should have." Willow's brow creased further as she struggled with the impact of one of her spells not working as she'd hoped. "But if he's here, we'll find him!"

* * *

New Mexico

Osborn floated to the ground, landing in a crouch just inside the top-secret base's wire-meshed perimeter. He stood stock still and waited as alarms blared and spotlights danced throughout the camp, finding him in a matter of seconds, assault rifle wielding guards racing out to meet him. Osborn smiled crookedly at the nervous-looking sentries as aware as they surely were just how totally out of their league they were. "Director Osborn," he paused for a second. "I don't have an appointment with General Ryker, but I'm sure he'll see me."

The guards' leader, a barely-shaving lieutenant according to his rank insignia, spoke into a radio attached to his left, his shoulders slumping in obvious relief at the reply he got. "If you'll follow me sir."

"Certainly." Despite his armour's apparent weight, Osborn moved smoothly enough, striding after the young soldier and into the grey-bricked compound, through its unmarked corridors, and to an office with a tall, lean man with brown hair and strong grey eyes sat behind a desk, the officer's perfectly creased uniform denoting his rank as General. "General Ryker, a pleasure to meet you."

"Dismissed." The General nodded to Osborn's escort before looking towards him and waiting until the door closed behind the junior soldiers before speaking. "Director Osborn, how may I help you?"

"General Ryker," Osborn did the officer the courtesy of raising his visor. "I'm doing a tour of the government's black ops to see which of them might be useful."

"In that case, I better show you to Gamma Corps' quarters," the general rose. "If you'll follow me."

Osborn fell in beside the soldier as they strode through the corridor. "The Gamma Corps were selected from individuals whose lives had been harmed or ruined by the Hulk to ensure motivation and devotion to the program. Using Gamma-irradiated DNA, the subjects were transformed into super-soldiers with the immediate objective of destroying the Hulk and with the more long-term aim of helping to protect theUS."

"All very laudable," Osborn approved. "And the experiments were a success?"

Ryker grimaced. "A limited success. Not all subjects were a success, and even those that took to the treatments haven't grown to have the same power of the Hulk-."

Osborn smirked. "That's not necessarily a bad thing."

"True, controlling creatures with their power would prove impossible." Ryker nodded in agreement as he stopped by a steel vault door and tapped at the keypad by the door. The pad beeped, a panel opening above it that Ryder placed his hand in, the door sliding silently open a second earlier. "UP AND READY!"

The general's bellow rang through the long room as the quintet leapt up to attention at the ends of their beds and its lights flickered on. Ryker started down the line of recruits, stopping at the first, a tall, massively-muscled man with buzzcut black hair. "This is codenamed Grey. Lieutenant Brian Talbot, younger brother of Colonel Glenn Talbot, a name you might recognise as having considerable history with the Hulk. He was created with Hulk and Leader's DNA, and as well as being a skilled martial artist he's a fantastic military strategist. He's the strongest of all our recruits, a legitimate one hundred tonner as well as having the matching durability etc."

Ryker moved onto the next recruit, a tall, shaven-headed black man. "This is codenamed Mr. Gideon. Master-Sergeant Gideon Wilson, older brother of the Falcon who was created with Doc Samson's DNA. In addition to his super-strength which interestingly increases the shorter his hair is, the exact opposite of Leonard Samson, Gideon also has titanium knuckles."

Ryker moved onto the next recruit, a muscled freak with clawed feet and hands, and huge wings jutting out of its back. "This is Private First Class Eliot Franklin, Codenamed Griffin. As you can see, his powers are based on MODOK's mutation of Betty Ross. He has sharp claws and talons, and can spit a slimy corrosive venom in addition to flying and his super-strength."

Ryker walked up to the group's solitary woman, a red-headed female that looked to be part human, part something else. "This is Mess, Corporal Nicole Martin. Her son died in a Hulk\Abomination battle and she was left badly scarred. Parts of her body were replaced by parts cloned from Abomination. While her Abomination parts possess superhuman qualities, the rest of her retain human strength etc."

Ryker strode up to the last recruit, a youngish looking kid with blonde hair, an enlarged skull, and greenish skin. "Codenamed Prodigy, Private Timothy Wilkerson was created using the Leader's DNA and artificially aged. He's responsible for maintaining the team's equipment, has limited telepathic abilities and is able to project psychic blasts."

"Oh yes," Osborn smirked. "I definitely think your team is going to have a substantial role in our future."


	9. Chapter 9

**FIC: Darker Reign (9/?)**

"It's an honour to meet you sir, but why are we here?"

Strange concealed a smile at the younger man's look of awe. The current times were dire indeed and his own condition was hardly something to laugh at, but one had to take their amusement where one found it. "I've just come back from a journey to Florida to see an old friend and student of mine, Jennifer Kale." Strange supped at his tea as he considered his meeting. "I was sure with her ability she was the new one."

"The new what, sir?" Wiccan queried.

Strange peered out of the New Orleans café's glass window, looking out onto the city's always vibrant nightlife. Even after all these months, the aftermath of his battle with the Hulk still resonated. "The new Sorcerer Supreme." He raised a hand, halting the younger man's query. "I've abused my powers as Sorcerer Supreme, used dark arts for what I believe were good reasons, but nevertheless I've tainted my magics. Now more than ever the world needs a strong guardian. The master of the mystic arts has to be pure." Strange looked down. "A claim that I can no longer in truth make."

"B..but aren't you being hard on yourself?" Wiccan stuttered. "I mean, all the times you saved the world, fought alongside Captain America, the Silver Surfer, Namor, and all the other A-listers."

"That's all in the past." Strange's lips quirked up in a smile at the term 'A-listers'. "listen Billy, you have raw talent in abundance. You could be the next Sorcerer Supreme, but you need to train and learn more. I can help you with that."

"I try," Wiccan leant forward on his elbows, "but there's always some crisis-."

"And that's the mistake," Strange interrupted with a shake of his head. "If you get caught up with the present, you never take care of the future, of your growth."

"Are you here because you think," Wiccan took a breath. "Are you here because you think I'm the Sorcerer Supreme?"

"I don't know." Strange winced with the admission. "The Ancient One said there would be a gathering of the candidates, and then a choice would be made. It's not merely about power, but it's also about knowledge, wisdom, and intent."

"So if it's not me, it'll be someone good?" Wiccan queried.

"I hope so." Strange forced a smile. It was his greatest nightmare that Doctor Doom, Baron Mordo, or Morgana Le Fay would end up with the power. It was inconceivable to him, but then it would be the universe rather than him making the choi-. Strange blinked as a flash of red hair passed by the window by the side of him, bringing with it a palpable aura of power. "I'll be right back," smiling apologetically at his young guest, he rose and hurried out of the café's entrance and after the young woman.

* * *

"Yes thank you," Xavier smiled at the young woman interviewing him, then looked into the camera. "I absolutely believe that mutants and humans can co-exist. However this co-existing does include a righteous respect for the rule of law."

"So you're saying that the violence we see on the streets of San Francisco is the fault of the mutants?"

"Well," Xavier's smile grew rather more sombre. "A respect for the established and accepted laws of society are the cornerstone for any society. And while the blame in these situations is never one-sided, I do believe that Scott Summers should call an end to his\our people's part in the ongoing violence. His separatist notions of leadership are obviously not working, and are not what are needed in this current situation. Therefore, I call on him to resign forth-with."

"And you believe in Director Osborn's motivations and methods in dealing with this current situation?"

"Osborn's HAMMER agents are currently following strict non-violent methods of crowd control." Xavier paused. "He's shown admirable restraint to this point, however should things continue to escalate, I imagine he'll have to get tougher, despite holding no personal ill-will towards mutant-kind, so the onus is firmly on Scott Summers to stand his people down."

Osborn chuckled as he turned off his office's TV and turned to Ms. Hand. "Victoria, Mystique does an excellent Xavier doesn't she?"

"Aren't you worried about the real Xavier turning up and refuting these comments?"

Osborn smiled at the red-head's query. "Oh, I have Xavier secured."

* * *

"Excuse me young lady."

A shiver ran up Willow's spine at the cultured voice behind her. She knew immediately that the voice belonged to someone other than Xander, yet hope still had her spinning around to face the speaker, and disappointment deflated her upon receipt of visual confirmation that the man wasn't her best friend.

Not that she didn't recognise the tall, lean man with careworn features, dark hair greying on the temple and sideburns, and dark, intelligent eyes. It was impossible for someone interested in magics not to know the world's most famed and powerful magician. "Dr. Strange!"

"Greetings," the man half-bowed, dark eyes intent on her, people on the busy sidewalk detouring around him and them, "you're a powerful witch aren't you?"

"Who is this-."

Kennedy's jaw clamped shut at an urgent wave from him. "Yes sir, um Doctor Strange." Right now, this famed wizard was making her feel like she was sixteen, back in the library, and facing up to the cultured awesomeness of Rupert Giles for the very first time.

Strange's answering smile came across as strained yet genuine at the same time. "I'm sorry to interrupt whatever you're up to, but it's vitally important you come with me."

Sensing Kennedy tensing beside her, Willow quickly turned. "Kennedy, this is the Sorcerer Supreme, if he thinks we should go with him, we should." After a second, Kennedy nodded. "Okay, Dr. Strange," Willow forced a brave smile. "Lead the way."

* * *

Jennifer Walters hurried through the parking lot, eyes scanning the motion before her, throat tight and dry. The motion challenged the validity and legality of the Super-Human Registration Act. It was far from the first such motion to be put in front of a court as regarding the Act. To be honest, she didn't expect it to work, too many important people and companies had too much invested in the SHRA, but she hoped her celebrity would help at least shine some extra publicity on it, perhaps even get people talking about Osborn's suitability to be running national law-enforcement.

From little acorn-.

Walters blinked as a huge shadow fell over her, turning burgeoning day into bleakest night. "Oh boy." Her heart quailed as she looked up to see the new, notorious Red Hulk towering over her. His fist crashed into her jaw in mid-change, lifting her up and flinging her into the side of a muddy-brown van parked at the parking-lot's far end. Jennifer dragged herself out of the dented van, clothes ripping as her muscles swelled and gorged, flesh turning from tanned golden to emerald green.

Rulk grinned at her before catching her with an overhand right to the temple that took her to her knees. She-Hulk's arms came up in time to block a knee to the face, but was helpless to avoid a left hook to the side of her head that spun her around like a top, and sent her crashing to the ground on her side. "I'd say sentence is served, counsel." And then his heel thudded into her head, and all she knew was darkness.

* * *

"So," the red-head continued to babble as they entered the café where he'd left Billy, "are you here to meet Xander?" The red-head paused then continued. "Alexander Harris? Or Faith Lehane? I can't believe they've met you and haven't told me!"

"I'm afraid I don't know any Alexander Harris or Faith Lehane," Strange courteously allowed the two young women to sit down in the booth before looking towards the teen male sat opposite them, "this is Billy Kaplan. I'm here on quite a different matter."

He sunk into his seat besides Billy and opposite the two young women. "I'm sorry I didn't ask your names?"

"I'm Willow Rosenberg," the red-head said, "this is my girl-friend, Kennedy. We're here searching for my friend Xander, I cast a locater spell to take me to where he was. We ended up here."

"I believe your magics mis-directed you." Strange raised a hand when the girl's mouth opened, her eyes flashing with indignation at the suggestion a spell of hers could go wrong. "Please, allow me to endeavour to explain. There's a gathering of powers, magical powers to chose the next person to wear the mantle of Sorcerer Supreme. You were obviously brought here for that very reason."

The red-head flushed and looked away. "It can't be me," her whisper was almost lost in the café's hustle and bustle, "I'm plenty powerful, but I've made mistakes, really big ones."

"Yes," Strange nodded gravely. "I'd noticed the darkness tingeing your magics." He raised a hand to silence the brunette's flashing eyes and opening mouth. "However before I learnt certain life lessons, I was an unbearably arrogant surgeon who cared little for either his patients or even his family. What you've done in the past is less important than your potential for the future. If the lessons of the past have been learnt, then you might very well be a suitable candidate."

"But you're the Sorcerer Supreme," Willow protested, her face white.

Strange allowed himself a painful smile. "It seems certain lessons can be unlearnt as well as learnt."

* * *

Ares was first out of the Avengers Quinjet, dark eyes looking everywhere as he examined the city he found himself in, Enchantress and Gilgamesh following close behind, their numbers reinforced by Yelena Belova's Thunderbolts. Ares' nose wrinkled, he was on a foul mission indeed. He recognised the place of magic on the battlefield and what a powerful weapon it could be, still it rankled to be here, aiding the Enchantress' rise to the title of Sorcerer Supreme.

"Where do you think he is, witch?" Ares growled.

"The centre of the city."

"Then that's where we'll head," he decided. "Gilgamesh, join me in flanking the Enchantress. Belova, keep your 'Bolts tight to our rear."

* * *

"You know," Faith muttered as they hurried through the maze of back street alleys and towards the nearest motel. "I didn't think it was possible, but Trenton sucks more than New Jersey."

"You know," Xander was behind her, a grudgingly comforting presence, "maybe we should head south to Georgia."

"I was thinkin' we should head east for the border into Canada," Faith muttered. "If we're abroad, HAMMER can't what's it called, extradite us. Then all we have to worry 'bout is Osborn's assassins."

"Oh that's all we have to worry about," Xander ducked under a over-hanging roof, brief shelter from the constant rain slicking the walls and ground.

Faith bit back an angry reply. This constant running was wearing on both of them, and Xander didn't have her superior stamina to buttress him. Truth was he slowing her some, but she appreciated him being there, not being on her own more than she could say-. Faith's dark eyes narrowed as she noted a shadow shift in the crossroads some thirty feet ahead.

Waving Xander to a halt, she leapt up onto the rim of a dark-grey dumpster and jumped onto an office block's flat roof then stalked across it until she was standing above the oblivious figure. The man was tall and well-proportioned, dressed in a red and white costume with the top designed in the shape of a cross.

Rage filled her at the sight of a man who had to be another of Osborn's assassins. Before she knew it she'd dropped off the roof and into a world-class somersault, cool air pulling at her mane as she dropped out of the dark night, and landed in a crouch beside the man. Her hands looped around the back of the assassin's head before he had chance to react and yanked his head down while leaping up onto her tiptoes, and driving the top of her head up into the man's face.

Blood exploded out of the assassin's face as he stumbled back and into a thrust kick that Faith stepped inside of before jamming her elbow up at the man's throat. The hired killer blocked the blow on his forearm while crashing his other fist into the side of her head .

Faith grunted, blocked an attempted knee to the midsection on her forearm, then drove her own knee into her midsection. Stale breath gusted into her face as her rival doubled up and tried to twist away from her. Faith however was relentless, driving her knuckles into the would-be killer's kidneys, sidestepping his attempted side-kick, then grabbing him by his collar and flinging him head-first into the opposite wall. Faith sneered as the thug slumped to the ground, a final kick to the face sending teeth flying. "Don't step outta your weight class, dickwad."

Sensing Xander coming up behind her, Faith turned to face him. "Let's forget about the hotel," Xander suggested. "There's a bus station just a couple of blocks away, we should get out of here, and fast."

Faith nodded. "Sounds good to me."


	10. Chapter 10

FIC: Darker Reign (10/?)

Montreal, Canada

"How's Stark doing?"

Dr. Langkowski grimaced at the question from his team leader. "Not good," he finally admitted. "The wounds he suffered in his flight over here are serious but healable, broken bones, burns etc. But it's the brain damage that's causing the doctors' concern."

"How so?" James Hudson demanded.

Langkowski grimaced, medicine really wasn't his area of expertise. "From what I understand Stark is being lobotomised, but according to the doctors it's far from an usual lobotomy, it's something unidentifiable wiping his brain area by area in an almost sequential matter. One expert I talked to equated it to the wiping of a computer hard drive."

"Well if any engineer could manage it, it'd be Stark, why I have no idea though," James mused. "What's his long term diagnosis?"

"To be blunt we're talking about Stark not being able to breathe on his own when the process is over," Langkowski replied.

"Is there any way of stopping this process?" James queried.

"The doctors don't even know what's causing it, much less how to even slow it down," Langkowski answered. "And from what you're saying the only one who could heal is currently lying in a bed comatose."

"Perhaps not the only one," Heather Hudson spoke up. Both men turned towards the third member of Alpha Flight. "There's always Reed Richards or Henry Pym. Maybe even Hank McCoy?"

"It's a thought," mused James. "But until then Stark's helpless?" Langkowski nodded slowly. "If the past is any indication, we can't rely on Osborn to respect trifling legalities like national borders, we're going to have to contact every Canadian hero we can get in touch with, and organise a constant rotating guard on Stark." 

* * *

"Okay team," Finn growled as he strolled into the briefing room filled with his team and strode onto the podium at the front of the room. "We've had a break in the case, CCTV in Newark caught footage of Lehane & Harris boarding a coach en-route to Atlanta."

Miller joined him on the podium. "You've read the files, you know not to under-estimate the duo despite appearances. They're extremely dangerous, very experienced, and will not come without a fight."

"Oh yeah," commented one of the men, an unshaven, dark-eyed black. "Look that honey, you can bet she's a wriggler."

Another man snorted. "Screamer too, hellcat like that will take some puttin' down."

"But look at her," said a third. "She's definitely worth the effort."

The first laughed. "I can get behind that. Hell, I can't wait to get behind that behind."

"Yeah, I hope she struggles."

"Let's keep it professional, people." His skin crawling, Finn shot Miller a worried glance. Under Osborn's tutelage, SHIELD, a collection of the elite, had been transformed into HAMMER, a motley mob of corrupt cops, grizzled criminals, and dishonourably charged soldiers. And every second things were getting worse. 

* * *

"Huh." Doom licked his lips as he peered into his scrying bowl, energy rippled across the grey water, indecipherable to one untrained in the mystic arts, but to one such as he, learned in magics, easily readable. He leaned back, mind whirling furiously as he considered the news before him. "A gathering, a competition for the mantle of Sorcerer Supreme." Doom smiled slowly as he considered how such a position would greatly increase his already considerable power. And who better to wield such a power and shoulder such a responsibility than Doom? He rose with an assured nod. "To New Orleans."

"I think not!"

Doom spun on his foot at a husky purr, hand swinging up to fire yellow energy at the interloper. His teeth bared in recognition as his instinctive attack dissipated on the interloper's shields. "Le Fay!"

The tall, purple-haired witch let out a vicious snarl even as she retaliated with an attack of his own, green lightning arcing across his throne room to crash against his shields. Multi-coloured sparks erupted, dancing across their respective shields, illuminating the grim, dark chamber. "You'll never be Sorcerer Supreme, I won't allow it!"

"Wench!" Doom let out an enraged roar. "What you will or won't allow is of little import to me!"

"Then it is time you learnt humility!" Le Fay shrilled. High winds filled the chamber as lightning lanced between the duo, the gusting typhoon inexorably dragging the duo across the stone paved floor, and towards a shimmering black surfaced and oval shaped portal. "You will NEVER be Sorcerer Supreme!"

Doom gritted his teeth as he struggled against the portal's pull, all too conscious that if he concentrated his efforts on escaping the portal's grasp he would doubtless succeed, but the moment he dropped his defences, Le Fay would incinerate him on the spot.

The moment they arrived at the rift's threshold, Doom leapt at his rival, but as soon as he left his feet a wind caught him and the woman, dragging them into the rippling, crackling abyss. "NOOOO!" Doom let out a frustrated scream. To be so close to ultimate power, but to lose it all on a jealous bitch's capricious whim. 

* * *

"Hi," Wiccan smiled nervously at his potential rival for the position of the Sorcerer Supreme. It was ridiculous to think of him, or anybody for that matter taking the post that Dr. Strange had held for as long he could remember. "This guy you're here looking for, is he your boyfriend?"

The red-head flushed, and half-glanced at the hot brunette she'd come in with, stood at the counter with the Doctor ordering some food. "It's complicated," she finally replied. "He was once, but gay now! He's like my best friend from whenever, I gave him his nickname because I couldn't pronounce his name, he always protected me from bullies, and saved me when I went Darth Willow."

Darth Willow? Billy struggled to translate the twenty-something's encoded babblings but stuck on the words 'gay now'. "How did your friends react when they found out about you know?"

"Oh," the red-head flushed again, "it was weird. The worst bit was building up to tell them. They were okay afterwards, well except Xander being Xander has a vivid imagination so he was always wondering about me with other girls." Willow's gaze impaled him. "And what about you?"

It was Billy's turn to blush. "They were fine, the bit that weirded them out was my boy-friend was an alien."

"Ha!" Willow chuckled. "To other people that might be odd. But I used to date a werewolf, my best friend dated a former demon, and my other best friend dated two vampires. Beat that!" 

* * *

Nighthawk stared with wonder around the opulent throne room, both its vastness and richness awing him. He, Puma, White Tiger, and Battlestar had all joined the defections to Wakanda. He felt guilty about fleeing the US., and far from sure about being here, in the homeland of a man who'd once deliberately crashed the world's financial markets. But a nation ruled at least in part by Norman Osborn wasn't a land he wanted any part of.

"Greetings honoured guests." He glanced up to see T'Challa walking around and sitting on his throne. "I trust your journey here wasn't too troublesome?"

"No," Nighthawk shook his head. "The destination is more worrying."

"Oh?" T'Challa's lips tugged up into a wry smile, the black man's eyes staring unblinkingly at him. "How so?"

"Our people, our friends are all suffering at home, it doesn't feel right deserting them," Nighthawk finally replied.

"As forthright as ever, Kyle." T'Challa rose smoothly and leapt down the pedestal his throne was sat upon to land in a crouch his namesake would have been proud of before straightening. "You're not deserting them, we're merely gathering our forces and intelligence. However, I myself am stymied as to just how much I can do without being painted by Osborn's propaganda machine as a foreign power seeking to interfere in America's domestic affairs."

"Meaning?" queried Battlestar, the muscled black dressed in the stars and stripes clinging tightly to his shield.

"Meaning I can't be the face of any fight-back against Osborn, it has to be an American," T'Challa replied. "It has to be an American, Captain America, Iron Man, Reed Richards, or Luke Cage perhaps. Until such a leader rises, any moves I and we make against Osborn have to be clandestine." T'Challa looked towards him and Puma in particular. "I understand you wish to transfer the assets of Richmond Enterprises and Fireheart Enterprises to Wakandan banks?"

"As protection for our assets, yes," Nighthawk agreed.

"Then I better take you to meet our finance minister," T'Challa looked towards White Tiger and Battlestar. "Someone will be through in a moment to take you to where your fellow Metas are housed. I trust you find the accommodations to your satisfaction." 

* * *

"Ah, Mr. Osborn, an honour and a pleasure to meet you."

"And yet you kept me waiting," Osborn growled as he rose.

"Yes," the tall thin man's hollowed out cheeks flushed as he looked away from Osborn's glare. "Sorry about that sir."

Osborn nodded curtly before falling in beside the suited man. "I understand you've been experimenting with artificially creating meta-humans?"

"Yes sir," the man nodded. "Strikeforce X are a twelve man strong team who have through a course of drugs, nano-technology, and bio-implants developed animal-senses, enhanced strength, healing factor, and reflexes as well as energy claws."

"And I trust they'll be available for my operations if required?"

The man nodded. "By all means, Director Osborn." 

* * *

"When I look at Osborn's Avengers, I don't see a brave new age," Tigra spoke into the camera. "In fact I see something horrifying. Quite apart from Osborn's own dubious record, let's look at his Avengers. Ragnarok, not Thor, who only a few months ago murdered a good friend of mine in Bill Foster AKA Goliath. Enchantress, a witch with the very worst of reputations. And Moonstone has turned from good to evil so many times I've lost count."

"That was former Avenger, Ms. Geer Nelson AKA Tigra, from a hidden location. The footage delivered here only a few hours ago." Todd Keller turned towards the statuesque red-head sat beside him. "Ms. Hand, P.A. to Director Osborn, your rebuttal?"

"Thank you for this opportunity to comment on Ms. Nelson's words." The red-head shot Keller a dazzling smile. "I find Ms. Nelson's stance puzzling, not to mention hypocritical."

Keller leaned forward, a carefully manufactured puzzled expression on his face. "Hypocritical, Ms. Hand? I'm surprised to hear such a distinguished luminary in such harsh terms."

"Nevertheless," Ms. Hand shook her head. "I feel it's accurate. After all, Tigra's been in teams with both Hawkeye and Falcon, both former criminals who reformed. Why is reformation alright for her friends but not for those Director Osborn chose as members of his team?"

"What's good for the goose etc?" Keller queried.

"Precisely." Hand smirked. "After all, you can't argue with results. Look at all the metas we've captured, look at the falling crime statistics. Finally Americans can feel safe in their homes again."


	11. Chapter 11

**FIC: Darker Reign (11/?)**

"This way!" The firewalk rattled as Faith jumped onto it, dirty water splashing underfoot as she hurried down it, Xander two rungs beneath her. "Shit!" Faith cursed as she looked up to see the HAMMER troops crashing through the grotty apartment they'd been laying low in and onto the firewalk above them. Meanwhile, HAMMER agents swarmed into the alley beneath them at either end.

"Fuck this!" Faith muttered as she back-flipped off the ladder, past Xander, and to the cobbled stones. Faith landed in a crouch then surged up, elbow snapping back to crash into the jaw of the nearest HAMMER agent while twisting into a side-thrust kick to the chest that knocked the agent into the trash cans packed against the wall.

Faith spun to face the rest of the task force, her boot swinging up to crack the nearest riot shield even as she twisted out of the way of another's stun-baton hand shooting out to grab the man's wrist, yank him across her body, and into the other's path, the duo falling to the ground in an untidy pile. Faith leapt into the air, trampolining off the duo's back and into a drop-kick to another's riot helmeted face.

Faith hit the ground in a crouch beside the man, then leapt sideways , feet first into the wall and into a forearm smash to another's face. Her dark eyes widened as she recognised one of the two men behind the rest of the men, then widened further as the duo moved into a pincher movement against their own troops, taking them down with manoeuvres that were hideous in their efficiency.

In seconds all the HAMMER goons were lying crumpled on the rain-drenched ground, only her, Xander, Finn, and Miller still standing. "What the hell are you doin' here?"

* * *

Mordo stared at his castings, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling. He'd sensed a change in the air coming for weeks now, and now this confirmed it, Strange was no longer considered worthy of the mantle of Sorcerer Supreme. The only question remaining was just where the battle of succession would be fought-. Mordo's jaw dropped as the last piece of the jigsaw fell into piece. "New Orleans."

A second later he was up, cape swirling around him. Nothing would stop him, he was going to be the next Sorcerer Supreme, and no-one, not Strange himself would stop him.

* * *

"What are we doing here?" Finn's nostrils flared at the Slayer's accusatory tone. "Saving him," Finn nodded towards Xander then looked back towards the native Bostonian, "you just happened to be an unfortunate side-effect."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Faith snapped.

"When we signed up with SHIELD, it was to serve under a legend like Fury, not a nutcase like Osborn. I know any charges that Osborn laid against Xander are bullshit," Finn snapped back. "But I'm not so sure about you."

"Hey!"

Faith started forward with fists clenched only for Xander to step between, the one-eyed Californian looking pensive but determined. "I understand you've got your issues with Faith, and it's not that we're not grateful for the assistance, but maybe it would be better to talk about these problems somewhere else?"

"Yeah," Miller stepped up to Finn's right, "he's right, we don't wanna be hanging around here."

* * *

Willow looked up from her conversation with Wiccan as Strange hurried over, an harassed expression on his face and Kennedy snapping at his heels. "I sense trouble on its way," Strange tersely reported. "We need to leave here-."

"Ahhhh!" Willow threw up an instinctive shield as the diner's window imploded, jagged splinters flying in.

"A good shield," Strange praised as he fired an energy blast at a thick-set giant she recognised from the news as Venom, the monster back-flipping out of the way. "However perhaps offence rather than defence is called upon?"

"Sure!" Willow threw herself backwards as a black catsuited woman with flowing blonde hair landed on her table, her hand shooting up in a concussive blast that lifted the woman up and threw her across the café, over the cracked plastic counter, and into the far wall.

Willow reached out, grabbed a near-by chair, and pulled herself up on it when she saw her girl-friend engage a hulking figure dressed in a bear-suit. Willow spun towards the battling duo only to blink when a glowing beam hit the thick-set figure in his shoulder, twisted it like a top, and flung it through the far wall and into the alley beyond. Willow glanced towards Wiccan and smiled. "Thanks."

A stripped to the waist, lithely muscled man with scars and tattoos all over his rippling torso and wearing sun-glasses burst through the shattered window only to collapse at a word from Strange. "Who are these people?" Kennedy gasped as she wiped blood from her nostrils.

"The Thunderbolts," Strange replied, his expression grim. "And if they're here, it's probable at least some of the Dark Avengers will be near-by. We need to move, quickly."

* * *

"News today that Osborn's HAMMER raided Madripoor and caught the notorious meta-terrorist Viper," Todd Keller smirked into the camera. "This is a stunning rebuttal to those critics of the Osborn regime, with the former Green Goblin once again defending America's interests, both here and abro-."

"Windbag," Osborn muttered as he turned the wall-mounted wide-screen TV off. Still, the press was effective, even if the truth was somewhat murkier. Von Strucker had wanted Viper off the board to clear his path to leadership of HYDRA, so Osborn had all been too happy to use his resources to aid both his public image and his co-conspirator.

"Director Osborn," his normally inscrutable assistant looked slightly nervous as she strode into his office. "I'm afraid I have bad news. Agents Finn and Miller defected to assist Lehane and Harris."

"Ms. Hand, it's time to put my back-up operation into operation." Osborn turned towards his personal assistant, a smirk etched across his face. "Activate the tracking nanites on Finn, I want Lehane and Harris in my office by the end of the day."

"And the deserters?" Hand queried.

Osborn's jaw clenched, his good humour dissipating. Finn's treachery might have worked to his advantage, but treachery was still treachery. "They're a messy loose end, something I'm not especially fond of. I want them disappeared."

* * *

Justice stared out of the filthy window, his heart as bleak as the New York weather. Osborn as chief of law enforcement, what sort of messed up world was this? He'd thought things were bad after Stamford and during the Civil War, but now, on the run from Osborn's goons, the people against them even as they attempted to protect them. Justice shook his head, heart tight in his chest.

"Are we sure about this?"

Justice looked towards Night Thrasher. "Sure about what?"

"Staying here?" Night Thrasher replied. "I heard from Kasper Cole that the Black Panther is offering a general amnesty to all heroes who flee to Wakanda. He's building a strike force there, waiting for when public opinion supports our intervention."

"And in the meantime?" Ultra Girl rose from her seat. "We leave the citizens of America to suffer at the hands of Osborn and his followers? What dishonourable folly that would be!"

"Yeah!" Rage nodded. "This is our country, no way should we run out on it."

"It wouldn't be running out," Night Thrasher disagreed with a shake of the head. "It would be tactically re-grouping. T'Challa has resources we can't even dream of."

"We have allies here," Firestar pointed out. "Samson, Tigra, the Slingers."

"No offence to our allies," Night Thrasher retorted. "But they're not exactly A or B-listers. Where are the Fantastic Four, Iron Man, Strange, Thor, in all this?"

"It doesn't matter where they are," Justice came right back at him. "All that matters is where we are. We're here and we shouldn't run. We didn't become heroes because it was easy, we became heroes because it was the right thing to do."

Night Thrasher shook his head and smirked. "I hate it when you get all logical."

Justice grinned back at him. "Sickening isn't it."

* * *

Xander gritted his teeth as he followed his companions through the winding Brooklyn streets, dark jagged shadows shrouding their quartet. He supposed he should be grateful for Finn and Miller's save and the two soldiers joining their group, but Finn's contempt towards Faith was grinding his already shredded nerves down to nothing. His girl-friend of course expected his unconditional support, but while he wished Finn would see that Faith had changed, he couldn't really blame him for his grudge.

And let's face it, as much as they needed help, two special forces operatives weren't going to be able to do much against the might of the Dark Avengers, the Thunderbolts, or the HAMMER Initiative.

Suddenly Finn halted, a quizzical expression etched across his face. "What's up?" Miller muttered.

"Not sure," Finn looked around, realisation dawning in his eyes. "Oh wait, it's too quiet."

"Too quiet?" Faith muttered.

"Traffic being diverted, people being forced inside so there's no chance of civilian casualties," Finn tersely replied.

"Shit." Faith grunted as she glanced around. "You're saying they're here?"

Xander crouched behind a hedge and looked around. They were at the edge of a park, a scrap of untamed grassland really, just north of an intersection. "Any ideas?"

"Give me a sec," Finn muttered, the soldier's eyes fixed on his cell phone.

"Waitin' for a call?" Faith snarked.

Finn shot the brunette a glare. "Checking the local map. We need to retreat back across the grassland, then go left past the projects, and into the subway. Fast, but not looking like we're running."

"Sounds like a plan." Xander's heart raced as he rose and joined the others in ever so casually turning and starting back across the grassland.

"Shit!" Faith let out a curse as doors to buildings to the right and left burst open, Kevlar-wearing HAMMER goons spilling out to surround them.

Xander glanced left and right, heart sinking at what he saw. There had to be forty men easy, cutting them off from any escape route.

"Oh boy!" Finn pointed at a crackling portal opening in the sky some thirty foot away and ten feet in the air. "What's that?"

* * *

Fury chomped down on his cigar as his 'Secret Warriors' charged out of the portal and into battle. Stonewall used his superhuman power to act like a battering ram, knocking flying any HAMMER agent unfortunate enough to get in his way. Quake, Druid, and Hellfire used their distance attacks to further decimate the HAMMER agents' ranks and Phobos used his power of fear to panic their enemy. "Well?" Fury stared belligerently at the quartet that Phobos had warned them were key to defeating Osborn. "You waitin' for an engraved invitation? Move it!"


	12. Chapter 12

**FIC: Darker Reign (12/?)**

"Holy-." Xander's jaw dropped at the one-eyed legend who'd saved their bacon. All his life he'd grown up idolising Fury, heck his idolisation of Fury was one of the few things he'd shared with his dad. And now Fury was saving him?

"Stop oglin' and start movin'." Faith growled in his ear, her hand wrapped around his elbow as she pulled him towards the shimmering portal.

"Huh," Xander shook himself out of his funk and started racing alongside his girl-friend, eyes fixed on their escape route.

* * *

"This way," Strange hissed as he led them through New Orleans' winding streets, "we need to find somewhere to hide until my friends get here."

"And how will your friends know?" Kennedy queried from her position at the quartet's rear, casting nervous glances behind her.

"I've sent for assistance," Strange replied. "It's just a matter of who can come and how quickly."

"Oh," Kennedy snarked, "not vague at all."

Strange shot a withering look over his shoulder. "They'll be here."

* * *

"As you can see trouble is spreading throughout San Francisco, we'll be needed," Osborn turned the widescreen, wall-mounted TV off and turned to his companions. "You'll each be assigned hot zones within the city, any costumed mutant found breaking the law is to be restrained, taken down and arrested."

"I don't mean to protest," Hand spoke up, "but with Ares, Gilgamesh, and Enchantress dealing with the New Orleans situation, we're short-handed."

"Oh don't worry," Osborn steepled his fingers together and looked over them to his companions, "I have reinforcements in mind." Osborn leaned forward in his seat. "Now listen, cameras will be everywhere. We can't afford any fatalities. Your priorities are stopping the riots and keeping civilians safe, but remember above all, we have to win the war of public opinion."

* * *

"People of San Francisco," Osborn peered out over his podium to the watching massed media, smiling his practiced smile as their cameras flashed. "Given the current shocking behaviour of the X-Men, it's become necessary to draft my own replacement." He looked towards a seated Mystique wearing Xavier's face and body. "With the assistance of my consultant on mutant affairs, Professor Xavier." Osborn stepped aside as the "So here are MINE and your X-Men, Sebastian Shaw, Mimic, Daken, Avalanche, Pyro, Lady Deathstrike, Vanisher, & Typhoid Mary. Now," Osborn's smile widened at the audience's sharp intake of breath, "any questions?"

* * *

"Got you, you damn freak!"

Rockslide recoiled at the immense behemoth looming over him. He himself stood six two and weighed close to five hundred pounds with a grey rock skin, but was dwarfed by the foot plus taller and twice his weight Rulk. "Look whose talking!" he blustered, burying the fear down deep before leaping forward and swinging a haymaker at the thickly-muscled mastodon.

Rockslide gasped when the smirking red-skinned giant caught his fist in his hand. Lights exploded in his head when Rulk jammed a straight right in his jaw. Vision blurring, Rockslide struggled to keep as Rulk jammed a hook into his torso.

Forcing aside the pain, Rockslide leapt into his rival, jamming a shoulder into the Rulk's battleship sized chest. His adversary grunted, surprised enough to be forced into releasing his grip on Rockslide's hand and stumble backwards. Rockslide sidestepped, tore a water hydrant off the sidewalk and swung it into his rival's torso.

"Nice try, kid." Rulk barely grunted before replying with a backhand to the forehead, the blow snapping Rockslide's head to the side and knocking him back a step. "Now try this!"

Rulk's fist thudded into his jaw with enough force to throw him across the road and into a parked car, lifting the car and throwing it through the shop front behind, car and shop alarms blaring out. Blood trickled down Rockslide's mouth as he staggered to his feet, Rulk charging across the street to confront him.

Rockslide reached out, grabbed and tore up a street lamp and swung it into the face of the red-skinned mastodon. Glass exploded as the light crashed against the Rulk's face, but Rulk kept on coming, Rockslide slid inside Rulk's straight right, arms looping out to grab the bigger meta in a bear-hug.

"Ahhh!" Rockslide stumbled back, pain roaring through his head. He managed to block a right on his forehead then caught a knee to the stomach. The air gusted from his lungs as he doubled up, Rulk grabbing him in a front facelock. Pain exploded when his opponent drove his free fist into his lower back, legs buckling under him.

* * *

Rulk laughed as the rock-skinned mutie hit the ground. The kid had given it the good old college try, but had come up short. He raised his foot to pound the mutant's skull to smithereens.

"Wait." Rulk turned to see himself being watched by Sebastian Shaw. "We don't want him dead, take him to Holding."

* * *

Victoria Hand raised an eyebrow. Their Avengers had been in town for just one night, and according to security the mutant leader known as Cyclops had turned up at their gates bold as brass. "Is it true?" She turned to find her boss stood in his Iron Patriot costume, helmet in the crook of his arm. "Cyclops is here."

"Outside our base's front gate," she replied.

Osborn smiled crookedly. "It would be rude to keep our guest waiting."

* * *

If nothing else Osborn had to admire the mutant's nerve, turning up at his base without any back-up. "Norman Osborn," he greeted, eyebrows rising when the younger man expressionlessly ignored his proffered hand in favour of standing before him with arms crossed. "Things could get very nasty, Mr. Summers, but they don't have. We've still got time to turn things around. We're both men with responsibilities, myself the security of my nation, you for running your very own race. The way I see-."

"Surrender."

Osborn blinked at the mutant's softly-spoken interruption, so softly spoken that for a second it didn't register what the other man had said. And then it did, and a burning fury ignited in his belly. "I beg your pardon?"

"Surrender, pull out, withdraw, whatever you want to call it," Cyclops said. "You have the rioters under control, call it a win, a result. Tell the press you and I have came to terms, that you're happy the city is in good hands. Then get outta my town."

Sour amusement battled with indignant fury as Osborn glared at his rival. "Or what?" he demanded, voice hoarse with rage. "I have public opinion, numbers, and power on my side. If you don't give up, I'll bury you."

Cyclops shook his head before flying off, jet-pack roaring. "I tried, Osborn."

"Yes, and I'll be the one shovels the first lot of dirt onto your cold dead body," Osborn seethed through between gritted teeth.

* * *

The moment he materialised, Tyrone Johnson swept aside his cloak, allowing Tandy Bowen to slink out from his embrace. His eyes swept over the stacked crates filling the dusty warehouse. "Okay," despite his best attempts his whisper echoed through the vast room. "We were told to get -."

Tyrone swayed as a sonic wave boomed through the packed warehouse, blood bursting from his eardrums as his legs buckled under him, pitching him to the ground. His hands reached out to his likewise fallen love, then shuddered uncontrollably as another blast crashed over him, forcing him to unconsciousness, the last thing he saw before passing out were HAMMER agents rushing out from behind the crates.

* * *

"Nanites detected."

Fury raised an eyebrow as their underground automated security system let out an instant warning the moment they spilled out of their teleportation portal. "Okay," he growled as he spun around to face the quartet they'd just rescued. "Each of you in the decontamination chamber, now."

The three men hurried towards the pointed out chamber, but the dark-eyed brunette put her hands on her hips and glared pugnaciously up at him. "Not that I ain''t grateful for the rescue, but you ain't-."

"Thanks for the assistance, sir," the one-eyed youth interrupted, his arm looping around the dark-haired beauty's shoulders and pulling her away. "It was very much appreciated."

Minutes later the now fatigues-attired quartet were in his briefing room. Fury listened as the quartet introduced themselves and explained just why Osborn was after them. The moment they'd finished, Fury rose with a smirk. "Seems you're a little over-matched, but maybe I can help with that."

"You can boost my powers and give them powers?"

Fury shook his head at the brunette Slayer's query. "No, sugar, when I was still SHIELD Director I initiated a project with the Wakandan Design Group to develop battle suits for my agents. The prototypes were put in cold storage in this base."

"Why were they warehoused if they work so well?" queried the ever-sceptical Slayer.

"Let me guess?" Finn smirked. "Bean-counters right?"

"You know your military, son." Fury nodded approvingly. "Yeah, they came out as five times what we pay for our current equipment, the accountants weren't willin' to spring for 'em, dollars greater than my men's lives."

"If they're so great why save them for us?" Faith queried. "Why not give them to your team?"

"My team already have powers of their own, they don't need the advantage," Fury explained. "Want me to brief you on them?" Fury continued without waiting, pulling out a zip-up the front grey leather jumpsuit. "They're one size but mould themselves automatically to the wearer's body. These goggles allow telescopic, infra-red, and x-ray. In the cowl there's also a secure link that allows you to speak exclusively to others in the costumes. The material is anti-ballistic, bullets, knives, and normal human blows are all diluted on impact, they're also heat and ice resistant but do not effect energy weapons. The attached gloves emit an electrical charge onto anything or anyone they hold onto, and can stick to any surface, allowing climbing. The suit also have stealth capabilities meaning it can turn invisible and muffle sound, however this does not effect a meta's enhanced senses or electronic sensors apart from your basic closed circuit camera, and as you can see, extendable wings that spring out from elbow and arch down to the waist."

"Wicked cool!" commented the busty Bostonian.

"The wings allow gliding rather than flight," Fury finished. "Now why don't you put them on and try them out?"

* * *

Fantomex glided into the high-security network server located in the basement of AvengersTowers, eyes widening appreciatively at the cat-suited rear of the red-head crouched over the server. "Ma cherie."

His involuntary remark was whispered, but loud enough for the woman to spin around to face him, a wary look on her face. "Relax," Fantomex raised his hands in supplication, "I suspect we are on the same side, if working for different employers." Fantomex threw a flash drive to the Russian. "Just fill that up and no harm no foul."

"Except," Black Widow caught the drive and glared at him. "I don't have the time for-."

BLAH! BLAH! BLAH!

Fantomex shrugged as alarms blared out. "That's not my fault, but the way I figure it we have the best chance to get out of here if we work together?"

Widow scowled at him then nodded. "We'll do the information exchange when we get out."


	13. Chapter 13

**FIC: Darker Reign (13/?)**

Xander followed Riley into the darkened storage room, anxious for a moment alone with his old friend. "Hey, what you doin'?"

Riley glanced up from a perusal of the shelves stacked with a bewildering variety of weaponry, stationery, and tinned foods. "Whenever I arrive at a base I like to look around, familiarise myself with what we have and don't have."

"Oh right," Xander stuffed his hands in his pocket and nodded, leaning against the wall. "I guess that's a military thing."

Riley glanced at him and chuckled. "I think a slob like yourself wouldn't have done well in the military, Halloween possessions notwithstanding."

"You're probably right," Xander chuckled self-consciously before sobering. "I know you and Faith have a thing, so thanks for helping us."

Riley shrugged. "I might have problems with Faith, but they're molehills compared to the mountainous issues I have with Osborn. Besides, if not for you and the others, neither Graham or I would have made it out of Sunnydale in one piece." Riley suddenly grinned. "Just don't invite me to the wedding or name any of your kids after me."

Xander smirked back at the former soldier. "Oh that was never going to happen."

* * *

Fantomex cursed as he turned a corner to find a quartet of HAMMER thugs blocking the exit. Fantomex put on a burst of speed when the goons started to go for their weapons, surprise etched on their faces beneath their riot-visors. Fantomex sped left, leaping feet-first onto the wall then spring-boarding onto the quartet, catching the nearest to the wall with a spin-kick to the face that knocked him into the wall.

The other thug lunged at him as he feinted left then slid right, catching the man with an upswinging clothesline to the chest, the blow crashing home with enough force to crack his Kevlar. Fantomex blurred inside as the man swung his baton, smashing an uppercut into the man's jaw. The man's legs buckled, dropping him like a puppet's whose strings had been cut.

Fantomex glanced right in time to see Black Widow drop the second of her rivals. "It has been a pleasure ma'cherie, but it is time to say au'revoir."

"Yes." Black Widow shot him a considering look. "You never did tell me who you were working for."

"A gentlemen never reveals such information," Fantomex bowed slightly at the waist before melting into the shadows. "Until next time."

* * *

Valkyrie leapt off Aragorn, landing in a crouch beside her winged horse, reaching over her shoulder to draw her broadsword then stiffened as she recognised the burly, bearded figure striding towards her. "Hercules."

The broad-shouldered Olympian shot her a smirk. "Fair Brunnhilde, as always a pleasure."

Valkyrie nodded stiffly at the notorious womaniser. "Stephen Strange called. As a companion through good times and bad, I was honour-bound to assist."

"Aye," Hercules nodded. "The good Doctor is a man of infinite resource and a stalwart ally. The only question is where is he?"

"I think we can assume," Wonder Man landed between her and Hercules, "that wherever there's trouble, we'll find Strange. The only question is what sort of trouble?"

* * *

"So," his lips pursed and fingers steepled, Osborn leaned forward as Ms. Hand finished her report on Cloak & Dagger's capture, "the duo refuse to talk?"

"Yes," the video-conferencing personal assistant replied. "However I've had our agents do a background check on the duo that confirms they were in the employ of T'Challa of Wakanda, teleporting in supplies to the mutants probably at the behest of his wife."

"Huh." Osborn leaned back in his seat, eyes closing as he silently considered his options while struggling to keep his own rage under control. Finally he smiled as a most fitting answer came to him. "Have Cloak & Dagger transferred into 42." He paused again for a second before finally committing to a decision. "Speaking of which, how many Wakandan criminals do we have in 42?"

Hand glanced down at her ipad screen momentarily for a moment before looking up, disquiet in her eyes. "We have Erik Killmonger, Madam Slay, Malice, and Man-Ape."

"Excellent," Osborn nodded. "I want them all released and transferred to Africa. If T'Challa has time to interfere in America's affairs, clearly he has too much time in his hands."

"These are dangerous people, sir."

Osborn waved away Hand's complaint. "Insignificant next to the dangers of allowing foreigners to interfere in American affairs. See that it's done."

* * *

"Hood! Surrender yourself!"

Hood cursed as he fled the pursuing armoured hero flying after him, weaving left and right, in and out of Force's energy blasts, using the night's shadows to shroud his passing. Things were supposed to be different now, now they were in control. But he'd been busy breaking into a local post office when Force, the Stark employee who'd built his own suit, had accosted and chased him off. He'd called in help but, he spun and fired his twin automatics at the flying hero, they were taking their damn time getting here.

Suddenly sparks flew out from his right, engulfing the armoured hero in electricity and casting him to the ground. "Finally!" he glared at Electro. "Took your time!"

Rhino appeared behind the downed hero before Electro could respond, lifted Force and flung him into and through a near-by parked car. "Well done," Hood sniffed as Rhino strode up to him. "Now pick up that piece of crap and take him to the Negative Zone prison with the rest of the do-gooders."

* * *

Strange hurried through downtown New Orleans' winding, gaudy streets, his new companions bunched behind him. A foreboding itch prickled the back of his neck. Lips drying, he looked around, mouth opening in a warning shout. "Everyone sc-."

He barely managed to get up a magical shield as a wave of pulsating crimson hit him. Sweat beaded down his head as the Enchantress strode into the alley's entrance, a mocking smile playing on her full lips. "Pardon me for saying this Sorcerer," she purred. "But you seem somewhat diminished."

"Perhaps so," Strange replied through gritted teeth, limbs aching as he shook with the pressure of holding the Asgardian back, "but I have enough power to deal with you, witch!"

Magic swelled from him, knocking trash cans down in its path en-route to crashing into the Enchantress and flinging her from her feet, sending her rolling down the cobbles. Sensing another attacker coming in from his left, he twisted to meet them, eyes hardening as he both recognised Baron Mordo and realised he was too late to block his enemy's attack.

Black fire spat from the mage, his teeth clenched and eyes like black venom. Strange struggled to bring up his defences even as he knew it was too late.

And then Mordo's attack hit an invisible wall thrown up by Willow while Wiccan hit him with a concussive blast that flung him through the wall behind him. Strange nodded at the two, words of gratitude dying on his lips when Ares and Gilgamesh crashed down in the alley in front of them.

* * *

"Colossus, your actions have been deemed unlawful. You are to be detained and taken into custody."

Colossus looked up, heart quailing at the presence floating above him. He dwarfed the lithe, blond-haired man, but the size difference was deceptive. Sentry's power surpassed all that but a very few heroes and villains – Hulk, Thor, Thanos, and the Skyfathers. "Robert," he forced a note of stern resolve into his voice as he peered up at the golden-garbed meta, "we've fought on the same side before, don't do this."

"You forced me into this," Sentry replied. The hero dropped out of the sky to land beside him and catch him with a clothesline across his torso that staggered him and was almost enough to fissure his metal-plated chest. Ignoring the pain raging through him, Colossus threw a haymaker that Sentry slid beneath before catching him with an uppercut to the jaw. Lights exploded before his eyes as he stumbled back. Sentry leapt into the air, flinging a downward right that crashed into his forehead.

Colossus grunted as he fell to one knee then rebounded up, lunging up into a waist takedown. Sentry grabbed him by his shoulders and flung him away into and through a factory's corrugated steel wall.

His head ringing, Colossus staggered to his feet in time to side-step a charge by Sentry and delivered an elbow to the side of the hero's head. Unfortunately Sentry shrugged off the blow in an instant, stepped around Colossus' rear and grabbed him in a triangle choke hold around his throat. Colossus gurgled helplessly as he reached up and tried in vain to rip Sentry's lithely muscled arm off his throat but to no avail. He bucked and twisted, trying desperately to fling the American meta off his back, in the process his wild struggles destroyed the manufacturing plant and the heavy machinery contained within. Soon, black spots appeared before his eyes, the strength fleeing from his limbs as he sunk to his knees.

* * *

Willow gasped, stomach hollowing in awe at the sudden appearance of Ares and Gilgamesh, a pair of mythical figures she'd grown up reading about. Willow forced herself to focus, realising that inattention in this battle more than any other she'd ever been involved in, would result in her being killed. "Ahhh!" She squealed as Ares lifted and flung a people carrier at them, Strange deflecting the black vehicle across the street, the vehicle dropping onto the sidewalk outside a jazz club.

And then Wonder Man and Hercules dropped out of the sky, the Greek God leaping off the back of a winged horse ridden by a horn-helmed blonde, landing between them and tackling the villainous pair. Willow winced as Wonder Man tore a lamp post out of the sidewalk and caught Ares with a swing across the jaw that flung the Greek God of War across the cross-section and into the parking lot beyond.

"Hello Strawberry!"

"Ahhhh!" Willow let out a wail as she looked up to see a burly figure with a wide mouth filled with spittle-dripping teeth and a white spider embossed against his thick chest crouched on a wall to their left. Blind instinct took over as the meta leapt off at the wall at her, her hand shooting up to hit the creature with a concussive blast that flung him through the brick wall.

Legs shaky, she slumped against Kennedy in time to see Wonder Man, Valkyrie, and Hercules being beaten down by the duo of villains and the newly-arrived Thunderbolts, while Strange came under renewed attack from a recovering Enchantress. "Hey man," Willow's eyes widened as a powerfully-built man with dreadlocks down to the middle of his back appeared between them and their adversaries, flinging their rivals away with a casual shake of his hand, "you comin' to MY town and causin' trouble?"

"By the hoary hosts of Hoggoth," Strange let out a strangled whisper. "Of course, the new Sorcerer Supreme is Brother Voodoo!"

* * *

"Where are Simon and Herc?" queried Hawkeye as he stomped into the Avengers' hidden base.

"They're in New Orleans." Pym didn't look up from his perusal of the widescreen, wall-mounted TV, watching as events unfolded in San Francisco. "Replying to a plea for assistance from Dr. Strange."

"The question should be why aren't we with them? Either there or helping the X-Men in Frisco."

Pym glanced around as a an approving mutter followed War Machine's words. "No," he shook his head. The others didn't know that every night he went pain-stakingly through the facts and figures, weighing up every variable and took into account every factor. "It isn't time yet."

"Isn't time?" Rhodes shook his head, a disapproving look fixed on the African-American's face. "How many of our friends have to suffer or even die at Osborn's hands before it's time?"

Pym shifted uncomfortably at Rhodes' probing query then shook his head. "It doesn't matter how quickly we react, just how successfully. We move now, while Osborn has the public in his pocket, even if we win, we lose. We have to wait until the public want our help, until we have popular support, otherwise, once we've defeated Osborn we'll have to fight the entire nation, are you really prepared to do that?"

Rhodes winced. "Maybe not, but I'm not willing to let my friends and allies die while we wait."

* * *

"Cyclops, I trust we're talking on a secured line?"

The answer came several seconds later. "We change our encryption codes once a day," the mutant replied. "I'd like to ask how we could help you, but we're a little busy ourselves."

Fury smirked. "I can see that Summers, and I'm not ringing to ask for help but to help you."

"Oh yes, and how exactly do you plan to help us?" challenged the mutant.

"Ever since I've been on the run, I've been hacking into Osborn's communications, trying to find out as much as possible about his plans," Fury paused, brow furrowing as a message came through on his screen about another operation "It turns out that for one thing, the Xavier Osborn's been trotting out in his press conferences is in fact Mystique. And all the mutants Osborn captures are being imprisoned and experimented on by Dark Beast in facility beneath Alcatraz."

"Huh," Summers grunted. "I already knew that Xavier was probably a shape-shifter, but that other information is new and troubling. Thanks."

"Just bear this in mind when I might need help, Fury out." The moment he'd turned the communicator off, Fury let out a bark. "Harris! It's time you and your gang started earning their keep!"

* * *

Black Widow's breath came in easy measured pants, her years of conditioning and experience at the sharp end of super-heroing combining to keep her calm and in control as she raced from shadow to shadow, seamlessly finding whatever cover she could in the dark night. After splitting with Fantomex, she'd hurried to her meeting place with Fury only to find a trio of mercenaries, Batroc's Brigade in hot pursuit.

Natasha's lip curled up in disdain. Batroc's Brigade were known as a group of most despicable mercenaries, Batroc the Leaper, Machete, and Zaran were all killers, and yet now, under Osborn's distasteful regime, they were charged with protecting the very people they'd so shamefully plundered.

And, Black Widow cursed as she sprang for a flag pole jutting out from above a shop window, grabbed it, and swung onto a nearby roof, landing in a crouch, with bringing her in to Osborn for 'justice'.

Justice. Having lived in communist Russia, she had a very different word for what Osborn was inflicting on the American people. Oppression.

Black Widow powered across the roof, long legs powering up as she built up momentum. Batroc's Brigade were in no way heavy hitters, she could take any of them on an one on one basis, maybe even one at a time, but all three together? Forget it.

Black Widow grunted as she flew off the roof and onto a lower one. Her knees were bent and spread to minimise the impact, still, it carried her forward, into a roll that carried her to the edge of another roof and off onto the building's fire escape.

The fire escape rattled as she climbed down it, dropping off three rungs from the bottom.

Natasha's heart hollowed as she landed in the alley just as a garishly garbed trio appeared in the narrow passageway's entrance. Natasha readied herself, dropping into a boxer's stance.

And then a portal opened above the trio, three men and a woman dressed in figure-fitting grey dropping out of the sky and onto the threesome. Black Widow's eyes widened as the three men separated the leader's trio from his men and set to restraining them while the girl went after the trio's leader.

The savate expert lead with a flawless spin kick but the brunette wriggled under his assault with the effortless sensuality of a striking cobra, her elbow streaking down to crash into the inside of his grounded knee. Batroc grunted, his thin face twisted painfully, hand shooting down in a karate chop that the brunette blocked on her forearm before slamming a trio of blurred rights into his stomach.

Batroc greyed as he doubled up into a knee to the face. Batroc straightened, his face a mask of crimson and just managed to twist away from a side thrust kick. Batroc attempted a reverse leg sweep of the girl's grounded foot only for her to back-flip over his head, grab his collar, and fling him face-first into the alley's cobbles.

The girl landed in a crouch and looked up at her with a grin. "Black Widow? Fury sent us, we're the 7th Cavalry."


End file.
